


Concussion

by BLACKBAMBIE



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Attempted Murder, Cannibalism Puns, Canon Continuation, Case Fic, Concussions, Emotional Manipulation, Episode: s01e08 Fromage, First Time, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Seizures, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-03 06:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10961916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BLACKBAMBIE/pseuds/BLACKBAMBIE
Summary: This story fills the big gap, left after the episode Fromage before Hannibal talks to Bedelia du Maurier.While suffering from the effects of a severe concussion, Hannibal becomes unconcious, waking up with no memory of his former life. Unable to remember who he was, what has happened and whom he can trust, Hannibal is dependent on Will, haunted by his own demons. Guilt and unsaid emotions quickly start to blur.





	1. Unconsciousness

**Author's Note:**

> Hei, guys.  
> I finally did it. I wanted to write a Hannibal Fanfiction in English, since I started watching in 2013 but until know I never felt good enough at writing to do so. English is not my first language and all my medical knowledge is from medical school, but I'm only in year 2 - so you're allowed to poke me with the pitchforks, if I screw up the descriptions of medical treatments and pathologies. This work is not read by a second person in correction, so feel free to poke out any spelling mistakes or mistakes in grammar. My summary is pretty bad, I guess, but I never was good at summaries (laughing*). If someone of you is interested in my other works, feel free to message me.  
> I hope you'll have fun with my story. And I would be really glad, if some of you would give me some feedback. You're guys are awesome and I'm so happy to become a part of the English fandom, too.  
> Oh god, so much useless ranting. Sorry for that.

__

I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people, to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole.  
\- Lauren Oliver, Before I Fall 

The sun was setting, coloring the cloudless sky in a deep shade of red. Lighter shades of blue were washing into the brilliant shade of red, where the sun had already sunken lower than street level. Will’s head was resting against the cold window – glass of the car, swaying slightly from side to side. The siren, onto the car top, was howling loudly in the silence of the silent Baltimore evening. It was one of these days. One of these days, when everything in his life went from worse to hell. 

The bruise, that was already forming on his exposed throat, made breathing so difficult, that there was a little, rattling sound, whenever he sucked air into his burning lungs. He still felt the violin – string, with which Tobias Budge had tried to strangle him, around his throat. The fear of loss was clouding his rattling mind and he was not able to keep his hands still, while the FBI agent beside him, was speeding the car. They passed a speed control, which activated and registered their license plate. They would not arrive in time, there would be blood, they would not be able to save Hannibal from the damnation, silently approaching in form of Tobias Budge. Even if the FBI agent, behind the wheel of the black jeep, was violating every speed regulation in Baltimore, they would not arrive fast enough to stop the series of events, that were already evolving in Dr. Lecter‘s office.  
Will felt guilty. He felt guilt – heavy like stones, sinking to the bottom of a bottomless sea. Maybe he could not think clearly, because his ears were still ringing from his miss-aimed shot, with which he had made Budge stumbling back. With which, he had been able to save his own life.

His mind was racing, blurring reality and imagined happenings into a great chaos of swirling shreds of thoughts. There always had been the possibility, the special possibility, which he had never wanted to accept. The realization, that maybe there were no somatic explanations for the intermittent -happening malfunctions of his brain. Maybe there was no somatic cause, why he was not able to think clearly from time to time. Maybe Dr. Lecter was right and he was losing his mind. 

While the neighborhoods, they were passing by, became more high class, Will was starting to get tired. It had been a long day and there was nothing, simply nothing, that he wanted more than a warm shower and a nap. A nap, that preferably could last for years. He wanted his “short nap” to last so long, that Jack would not remember him anymore.  
Will simply wanted to stop consulting for the FBI, even if he felt the obligation to go on with it to save innocent people. He would go on with it, of that he was sure, even against psychiatric advice. But if he was totally honest with himself, there was nothing he wanted more, than to end his companionship with the FBI. Consulting, looking at gruesome crime scenes again and again, was simply doing no good for his mental stability.  
He was mentally instable, but Jack did not seem to care. Will had been manipulated to go on with consulting by appealing to his good nature. It had been simple manipulation, dilettante manipulation even, but it had worked - it had brought them all to this time and place. 

It had brought darkness in a home, that Will had once considered as a place of safety, like his own home, back in Wolf Trap.  
The brakes were squeaking, when the FBI agent, was slowing down the car abruptly. They had reached their destination. The building, housing Dr. Lecter’s office, was right in front of the car with the tainted windows.  
Somewhere in the distance he heard the lonesome howling again. A howling, that always reminded him, of madness. Madness, that was rooting in the depths of his overstimulated mind. Panicked, he looked around, through every window of the car, but there was no hurt animal. There was nothing, no noise, only the howling noise of the siren.  
Tiredly he rubbed over his closed eyes to get rid of his blurry sight, when he got out of the car. Staggering, he did a few steps in the direction of Hannibal’s office, until the commanding voice of the agent, who had driven the car, stopped him right away. They had to wait until the backup would arrive.  
Waiting meant losing time - time, that was precious. Time, that could decide over surviving or dying. He did not want to wait. It was selfish, but Will needed Hannibal – he needed the stability, that the other man was bringing into his life. His insight. His nearly heavenly patience. He could not stand the thought of the other men dead - strangled by a violin string, made of human intestine. 

Rubbing his eyes more harshly, Will tried to calm himself down by playing with a loose threat of his jacket. The picture of his psychiatrist, broken and bend to a nearly inhuman shape, did not want to leave his head - it stayed with Will, in the depths of his sensorial memory, until the back-up did finally arrive.  
As Jack left the second black jeep, having been parked behind the car with which Will had arrived, the sundown was nearly complete. The street, lined by expensive business-buildings, was bathed in a nearly golden light. Shadows were dancing over the charcoal - grey asphalt, while Jack was approaching Will with vigorous strides.  
“It is a precarious situation. We speculate that Tobias Budge had come here in the intention to murder as many people as possible. He knows that we will arrest him soon, but until then he sees it as kind of necessity to make the list of his victims longer.”, announced Jack in his calm and collected manner, while Will was staring down at his feet.  
He was in no need of a short report, paraphrasing the situation. When a tall man in a blue uniform, embroidered with the logo of the Baltimore Police Department, approached them silently, Will flinched. 

“We need to act immediately. In a few minutes our Special - Forces -Team will secure the building and in this process, they will free the hostage, while trying to fulfill the principle of damage control. My boss asks you, guys, to stay out of it, until we clearly ask you to come in. Are we clear?”  
Will was not really listening to the instructing, given by the man in charge, because he was busy with staring into the distance. Normally there had to be nothing in the infinity, but his mind was, again, playing tricks on him. The stag, magnificent and powerful as ever, was staking in the direction of the house, housing Hannibal’s office. Its feathers were erected, while it was slowly striding down the street, lined by small trees. When the stag had approached them, Will and the beast were only separated by a few strides, it watched them calmly with its hollow, black eyes. The dark eyes seemed to be able to look at the bottom of Will’s soul, where it was rotting away, filled with gruesome pictures of death and decay. They looked like bottomless pools of black. There were no emotions, especially no pity – in the obsidian- black eyes - there were only that kind of creepy curiosity in the blank stare, with which the creature stared right through Will. 

As surmised, Jack and the Police Officer were not able to see the beast, they only looked worried at Will, who was staring, pretty concentrated, in the direction of the empty street, where two more FBI – Jeeps were arriving. There was nothing to see. At the very least not for them.  
After waiting, what felt like an eternity, the Police Officer left Jack and Will be, to do an short briefing with the Special Forces team. Later on, they would get to know, that Tobias Budge had been already dead, when the team, responsible for freeing hostages, had been entering Dr. Lecters office.  
Waiting felt like living hell. Will hated this certain kind of meta – condition between knowing and not knowing, it made him feel itchy and uneasy in his own skin. When being allowed to enter the building by a simple nod of a Police Officer, it felt like salvation. Salvation for his racing mind, that would only be able to calm down, when he could be sure, that Hannibal was alive and uninjured. With hasty steps he followed Jack, who ordered his forensic team to access the crime scene first. Will felt like vomiting because the adrenaline, pulsing through his veins, was slowly subsiding. While standing in the waiting room, where he had sat every Friday evening, he had time to close his stinging eyes and think.  
Jack passed the doorstep, which squeaked quietly, what caused Will to open his eyes and follow him silently. It was early evening and the light, falling into the office with the high ceilings and expensive furniture, was nearly golden. The situation, in contrary, was not so golden at all. There was no golden glow to the injuries his “non – official psychiatrist” had suffered by Tobias Budge’ hands. 

Silently Will waited to cross the threshold to Dr. Lecter’s office, when he saw Jack supervising his forensic team, while they were perpetuating evidence.  
The light was dimmed and not golden anymore, as he finally passed the threshold to Dr. Lecter’s office. When he looked up, because he could not stand to look at his feet anymore – it made his ever-present headaches worse – it felt like looking up into the blade of guillotine. 

He was guilty of what had happened here. At least to a certain degree. Some part of his mind told him, that he deserved punishment for the darkness he had brought in this once save place. Will knew that he was not really guilty of the events but he also was not able to not feel guilty. Ironically it was nearly the same thing, as it was with his empathy.  
Emotions were difficult to process – much more difficult even to understand. It was the same with motivations – there seemed to be no connection between Dr. Lecter and Tobias Budge. No common thread in the history Tobias Budge shared with Hannibal. It was simply a paradox, that Budge had chosen Hannibal as victim. 

Will was in dire need of answers to calm his over-active mind. The unanswered questions were gnawing, gnawing like beasts, digging their claws into the flabby tissue of his brain. The beasts never stopped digging and as long as they would not stop digging, he would continue to have his epileptic absences. There was no other explanation, figuratively, why he was suffering from seizures, when he had never had a “Grand-Mal – seizure” beforehand. “Grand – Mal – seizures” started to occur, when youngsters breached the borderline between childhood and puberty, but only randomly after the age of twenty. He was, like in all things, seemingly a pathological exception. 

In the dark corners of his mind was lurking a realization: The realization that, maybe, there was no somatic cause for his seizures - that Hannibal, maybe, was right. Maybe it was post – traumatic stress, but maybe he was becoming insane. The insanity, lurking in the dark corners of his mind, he did not dare to look at, had finally broken free. There was no escape. He was a prisoner – a prisoner of his malfunctioning brain, trapped by the osseous structures of his skull. 

Suddenly it was very quiet in the office. Again was the condition, prevailing in the room, contrary to the emotions he felt. Will did not feel calm. He could not feel calm after he had seen what Tobias Budge had done to Dr. Lecter. It was very difficult to believe what he saw, when he faced Hannibal, who sat slumped down in his expensive leather – armchair. Will had never, he had to highlight never, seen Dr. Lecter like this. The man was always so self – assured, composed and calm.

Hannibal, who never lost his patience – who even in earthshattering situations had the tendency to stay his silent and observing self. Even things, horrible like the things, that had happened today, seemed not to bother him. At least not from the outside.  
The incident, like Jack insisted calling it, would probably leave permanent damage in all their life. Some of them were damaged physically but more importantly all of them were damaged psychologically. More damaged meant: more damaged, than they had been, when waiting on the outside of the building and the horrible scenery had still been a metaphorical “Schoedinger – condition”.  
Will lowered his gaze, as he noticed Hannibal’s blank gaze, which was scanning the dark bruise on his neck, where his collar did not hide the pale skin of his neck. A close examination, done in concern. A little bit like a veterinarian, checking a wounded animal for hidden, fatal wounds.  
Will felt caged, trapped by Hannibal’s dark eyes, which never reflected the light in the way other people’s eyes normally did. It was difficult to read him, more difficult than it was with most people for Will. He was the mystery, Will was not able to solve.  
“I was worried that you were dead.” 

At the end of his clipped, but brutally honest, statement Dr. Lecter was faltering. His voice lowered, tainted by wonder. He spoke composed and direct, but there was a little edge in his pronunciation, that could be either wonder or subsiding adrenaline.  
Hannibal focused on Will, while he was fidgeting with a loose thread of his jacket to avoid holding eye – contact. He was not able to hold Dr. Lecter’s intense gaze. Honestly, Will feared that he could see something that would shatter the picture, he had always had of his psychiatrist. He feared, that Hannibal could see more in his eyes, than he wanted him to see. More unguarded emotions. More raw and unfolded madness, than he had already seen in his sessions with Will.  
Hannibal was not unshakable. After all he was only human, too. He bled like normal people did. He even massaged his swollen knee trough the expensive wool of his slacks – like football players would do in games, after having fallen down on their knees. Human behavior was strange, especially when people were hurt, they all tended to behave in the same way. Will was not sure, he had never paid much attention to “evolution – class” in college, but there seemed to be behavior, that had stayed with the human race since the very beginning. You could paraphrase it as “gestures used when traumatized and hurt”. Gestures, only used to ease the physical pain, in place of the psychological pain, hidden behind the high walls of a traumatized mind. 

“Tobias Budge killed two Baltimore police officers. Nearly killed an FBI special agent.”  
There was a little pause in Jack’s paraphrasing of the situation, when Will noticed the swift shift of Hannibal’s gaze between Jack and him. Jack did not notice, that Hannibal was not listening anymore. He behaved blind like most humans did – Will had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. If humans would start to look at their surroundings, really watch how other people behaved in social situations, mankind would be able to solve a lot of problems.  
Sometimes he was able, at least to a certain degree, to identify with murder’s reasons for killing. The blindness, in which mankind had thrown itself, was pathetic – in some humans it even needed to be punished. To be extinguished. 

It was not the time to draw a connection to the Chesapeake murders, artfully and in some kind of twisted beauty done, but also mocking humanity for their ever – present flaws. He was simply not stable enough to delve into the emotions of a killer, so twisted and nonetheless so intelligent, that even he was not able to fully understand him.  
“And after all of that his first stop is here – in your office.”, intoned Jack in a low timbre, he had used countless times when he had begun an interrogation. There was a slow pulsing anger, coiling between Will’s intestines. How did Jack dare to treat Hannibal as a suspect? Hannibal was no suspect, but neither he was a victim. It was difficult to describe, what Hannibal’s role in the whole incident had been, but he was in no way enmeshed in Budge doings. Jack’s behavior was not simply rude – it was a bottomless crudity.  
“He came to kill my patient.”, answered Dr. Lecter shortly, as always. His voice was even – his words were sharp, as glass and well – chosen, as if he did not want to give Jack more reasons to be suspicious. Will noticed the subtle manipulation Hannibal was using to gain Jack’s trust by answering in a clinical way, which was showing his objectivity, concerning the “incident”. 

Will had questions, concerning Budge’s murders. He was not fully able to put the puzzle together. There always seemed to be a missing piece. Maybe Hannibal would be able to fill in the missing pieces, urgently trying to be found by Will’s overactive mind.  
“Is it your patient, whom Budge was serenating to?”, Will asked bluntly. Later he would be really embarrassed, because of his rudeness to ask in such a direct matter, but now, he only wanted answers. Answers, that Hannibal would not give Jack – after all the other man had always been a man of honor. Especially, when it came to the duty to treat details about patients confidentially.

But at this moment Will was too tired to care. It had been a long day – he simply wanted to go to bed and sleep for a very long time. Preferably a few weeks, maybe even a few months – certainly until the moment, when all this insanity, that had begun with the Hobbs’ case, would not possess his mind anymore.  
He simply wanted to be left alone. To live his anti – social life again. He was not designed to be part of the society. His way of thinking way too unique – too pathological.  
Even his social skills seemed to lack more, than it had been the case, when he had started to be a counselor for the FBI. It was not a good metamorphosis, he was trapped in. Everything seemed to be clothed in darkness. There seemed to be no rules, no laws and no morality in the place his metamorphosis was leading to. It felt like being trapped in a room without windows, where always seemed to be a whispering voice. A voice, whispering to him: See? But it was not Hobbs’ timbre, this voice was lower, more powerful and droning like rain, hitting the roof of his small house. 

It was the voice of a monster, slowly coming to life in the dark corners of his mind. He had spent so much time in killers’ minds, that he was not to decide between his own insanity and the darkness of others, bleeding into his mind, anymore.  
“I don’t know Franklyn know more than he told me. And than he told Mr. Budge that he doesn’t have to kill anymore.”, answered Dr. Lecter silently, while staring at the wall, opposite his working desk.

His eyes did not seem to have a focus and Will saw him the first time in his time, knowing Dr. Lecter, look lost. Lost in thoughts, that not even Will could think of. Traumatized minds were dangerous places – places, where someone, while trying to help, could easily get lost himself.  
“… and then he broke Franklyn’s neck.” There was little pause in Hannibal’s rational reproduction of the past incidents, where he seemed to think about choosing the right words. His pupils were shaking rhythmically, when some of the employees accidentally brushed against the switch for the chandelier, which, temporary, suffused the room with glowing light.  
“… then he attacked me.”, added Hannibal carefully, while trying to hide the small tremor of his folded hands.  
“And you killed him?”, asked Jack bluntly, which made Will shiver inwardly. For a short moment Hannibal’s stoic expression faltered, but after a few quickened blinks of the eye, he was back to his unshakable self. 

“Yes”.  
Hannibal lowered his gaze, temporally, when he had to stop massaging his engorged knee, to relocate his sitting position in a straighter posture. Will noticed the small wince, that had shaken Hannibal’s bruised body and felt sympathy for him. It was a bottomless cruelty to let Hannibal suffer to get answers to questions, that easily could be answered, after having taken a small dose of painkillers.  
“And Franklyn has been involved in whatever Budge was doing?”, asked Will silently, while holding eye – contact with Hannibal. If Will did read Hannibal’s reaction right, the other man was deeply amused about Will’s question. A dark kind of amusement with a mocking edge to it. Frowning, Will waited for Hannibal to answer, because he was not able to understand Dr. Lecter’s reasoning to react, as he had done.  
“I thought this was a simple matter of patronizing friends.”

The dark amusement did not falter, when Hannibal answered Will’s question suggestively. Jack seemed to be pleased with the answers, Hannibal had given him, so that he left them alone with a court nod. The sudden quietness in the office, Jack had ushered all employees in the small waiting room, was unexpected for Will. He was able to hear Hannibal’s rattling breath, every time the other man sucked air into his lungs like a drowning man. Slowly the façade, Hannibal had been trying to play, was falling down and Will could see everything his therapist was in this moment- nothing more than a probably severely injured man. 

Will leant against the edge of the spacious working – desk, while he was examining the condition Hannibal was in. There seemed to be no severe external wounds, but they could not be sure of damage to the internal organs. After all Hannibal was in dire need of a hospital and medical examination – there was no way avoiding a night in a hospital bed, smelling after chemical detergent.  
“I feel like I dragged you into my world.”, announced Will, while sighing tiredly. Smiling Hannibal lowered his gaze, while Will was staring down at his feet, embarrassingly touched about his own honesty. He did not want to be this honest with Hannibal. It had not been really smart to confess the guilt, he had felt, when seeing Hannibal’s condition, to a man, who was earning his money with analyzing what people said.  
“I got there alone but I appreciate the company.”

Will felt himself, again, deeply embarrassed, while Hannibal was smiling, like the cat that had caught the canary. Outside the office, the noises were getting louder again, because the forensic team was discussing to take some items, for closer examination, to their labor in Baltimore. Will tried to avoid meeting Hannibal’s eyes, while fidgeting with his folded hands. He did not want to be psychoanalyzed by Hannibal, who was even in a situation like this, calmer, than Will would ever be.  
When Jack entered the office again, Will knitted his eyebrows, because it confused him, that the forensic team was not following Jack.  
“The ambulance for you, will arrive in approximately five minutes, Dr. Lecter.” 

Hannibal did not seem too pleased over the unraveling of the things. Will surmised that Hannibal was pretty capable to tend to his wounds himself, but he could understand Jack’s reasoning. He would be less worried, too, if Hannibal would be examined by a real doctor, working in the emergency room.  
“I appreciate your concern, Jack, but I would prefer going home and tending to my wounds myself. I can assure you, that I did not suffer greater wounds and probably not even a mild concussion.”  
While Jack was, obviously – at least for Will, arguing with himself about forcing Hannibal to go to the hospital, the howling siren of the ambulance was becoming louder. Will turned his head to the high windows, where he could see the reflection of the ambulance’s flashing light.  
“I cannot force you to be taken to the hospital, Dr. Lecter, but my unit is in need of a detailed report about the injuries, you have suffered by Budge’s hands. I appraise you for your knowledge in the medical field, but it would be more secure, if another doctor would confess the diagnosis, you did already diagnose yourself with.” 

The doctor on call was arriving, while Jack was trying to convince Hannibal to undergo a medical examination in the hospital. Will could see the distaste in Hannibal’s face, shown by a small down – turn of the corners of his mouth, when the doctor was putting his first – aid – box onto the polished wood of an expensive sideboard.  
“I’m Dr. Mahone, trauma doctor on duty and I would like to do a quick check up to check, if it will be necessary to take you to the hospital urgently or if you can come to us in the morning to undergo the X – ray and CT to exclude internal damage. I want to do this checkup, as quick as possible, to avoid stressing you more, than you already are, Doctor.”  
Hannibal looked, like he wanted to sigh, but did not show more emotions, than a polite smile, as Will was ushered away from his place, leaning against the edge of the office – desk, by the doctor. 

“May I touch your knee to exclude the possibility of a fractured patella?”  
Will appreciated the doctor for his politeness and was sure, that Hannibal did too. Meanwhile it had become night, the street lights were illuminating the ill – lit office in a luminescent way. The shadows, casted by Hannibal’s furniture, had become longer and seemed to blur with the darkness, starting to fill the office, when the light in the waiting room did go out.  
“You may. I think there is not more than bruising cause to the swelling of my knee.”, Hannibal intoned curt, while the doctor was kneeling in front of him, flexing and stretching his calve. 

“Does it hurt in your lower talocalcaneal joint, when I supinate your foot like this?”, asked the doctor, while he was smoothing some unruly hair back behind his ear. He did not look like the normal doctor on call. He was neither old enough, to be done with medical school for a long time, nor did he look like the stereotypical genius, passing medical school in foreshorten time. Will was pleased that Dr. Mahone had been the doctor on call, because he was behaving extremely polite and working in an efficient way, exactly what Hannibal deserved in this moment. No more embarrassment and humiliation. Although of young age, the other doctor seemed to be skilled in treating patients as efficient and patient as possible.  
“Your diagnosis was mainly right, Doctor and I am quite impressed, how you were able to stand the whole interrogation, with not even a small dose of painkillers. I could not detect any fracturing of the osseous structures, but there may be forming a hematoma in the capsule of your knee joint. You should avoid long walks for the next weeks, but otherwise your body will heal without any medical intervention. The only thing I can do for you, concerning this injury, is to prescribe you some pain killers.” 

Doctor Mahone stood up in front of Hannibal to reach for the handle of his first aid bag, while Will himself, was silently observing the unfolding situation. There was slight embarrassment, coming from Hannibal, to be seen at this vulnerable state. Maybe it would be less embarrassing for Hannibal, if Will himself would leave the office. He had no right to be here anymore. The FBI’s work, dealing with Budge’s attack on Dr. Lecter, was done. If he had the right to stay, at all, it was because of his private relationship – very unorthodox, when thinking about the nature of their relationship: patient and therapist – with Hannibal.  
“Wouldn’t it be better, if I would leave? I don’t want to interrupt you in your work, Doctor. It feels a little bit like intruding something, I shouldn’t witness.”  
Will crossed his legs, while Dr. Mahone stopped, obviously confused, searching for some medical instrument in his first – aid – bag. 

“Do you want the agent to leave, Dr. Lecter? It might be better, if we would have someone, here, to stabilize you, when I will do the standard tests, inspecting your vestibular system.”  
Dr. Mahone turned his back to Hannibal, while pulling a small flashlight out of his jacket, embroidered with the initials of the John Hopkins. The time seemed to slow down as Hannibal lifted his gaze to meet Will’s eyes, clouded by deep embarrassment. His cheeks were glowing in a violent red, when Hannibal’s lips curled into an approving half – smile, the one he always showed, when pleased with Will in therapy. Will felt like a little schoolboy again – maybe it was his tiredness, but there was something, some aspect of Hannibal, that made him itchy. Will was not sure, which aspect of Hannibal’s reaction made him feel uneasy, but there was something. Something about the approving half – smile, that looked, at least in an undertone, predatory. Maybe he simply shouldn’t have taken the sixth dose of aspirin in a row. Jack had been suspicious, he shouldn’t treat Hannibal the same way. Most likely the other man was traumatized, not able to control his limbic system. After all, Hannibal was human, too. Traumatized minds were twisted places, actually Will should have known that – especially him, as pathological example. 

“If Will does not disturb your work, Doctor, I would like him to stay.”, answered Hannibal, voice slightly slurred. Dr. Mahone stopped, deadly – still, in turning the flash – light on. If Will had not been worried before, he was certainly now. He was not sure if Hannibal had recognized the change in Dr. Mahone’s posture, but after all the other man had been never something less than observant. It worried Will even more that Hannibal did not seem to be his observant - self anymore. He seemed parted from his body by a wall, building itself between the things Hannibal’s body did unconsciously and the things, he said, consciously. 

“It might hurt a little, when I fix the flashlight on your eyes. But, as you certainly know, it is necessary to preclude an injury of your brain – tissue.”, explained Dr. Mahone in a serene way, when he was, again, kneeling down in front of Hannibal. The blinding light, going on when the switch of the flashlight was turned, was even hurting Will’s eyes, which he was rubbing tiredly. Will did not want to imagine, how dazzled with light Hannibal had to feel, while being penetrated with the blinding light.  
“Please follow the movement of the flashlight with your eyes.” 

Hannibal obeyed the polite command, Dr. Mahone had given and Will was impressed: there were not many people in Hannibal’s position, who would silently obey without complaining. Will had never, simply never, experienced any kind of rudeness, coming from Hannibal. He seemed to own a great deal of self-restraint. It was simply remarkable – like nearly everything about Hannibal. There seemed to be nothing the other man was not capable of doing. Simply nothing.  
Will squinted his eyes to see Hannibal’s pupillary light reflex, even from the distance of the few strides between them. He felt concerned, when he saw that the left pupil was decreasing its size much faster, than the right one did – he was no expert in the medical field, but he was pretty sure, that the pupillary light reflex had to happen consensual.  
“Now I’ll need your help, Agent. If you would be so kind to stabilize Dr. Lecter through putting your hands onto the top of his shoulders, while I will turn his head to both sides to test the function of his vestibular organ.” 

Will did not feel good about the thought of assisting the doctor, while checking Hannibal’s vestibular reflex – he was afraid, that he could worsen the condition, Hannibal already was in. Silently he neared the leather arm – chair, Hannibal was sitting, slightly slumped down, in. Under the thick material of Hannibal’s suit coat Will felt the body heat, nearly radiant like radioactivity and the cramping of strong muscles.  
Dr. Mahone touched Hannibal’s head carefully at the joint where this mandibular bone met his maxillary bone to turn his head from side to side. When Dr. Mahone had turned Hannibal’ head nearly the whole way to the right sight, there seemed to be an intense cramp in all of Hannibal’s muscles, before he simply threatened to topple over.  
“We have to get you to the hospital. Immediately. You seem to be developing a severe concussion, influencing your brainstem.”, explained Dr. Mahone, voice slightly pitched but otherwise as calm as before. Will was deeply impressed by the man – even at his young age, the doctor seemed to be as skilled, as much older traumata – surgeons were. He was curious if Hannibal had been similar to Dr. Mahone at this young age – probably it had been the case. 

Dr. Mahone was searching for his pager to inform the paramedics in the pocket of his jacket, when the cramps, rattling Hannibal’s body, started to occur. Will shied away, seemingly confused by the increasing tension in Dr. Lecter’s body.  
“I don’t need to be treated in the hospital. This procedure, stressing all of us, won’t be necessary. I will favor my hurt leg and treat my concussion in the conventional way, like it had been done with patients, when I had been working as a surgeon.”  
The pager started to blink, while vibrating, as Dr. Mahone pressed the button to give the paramedics, waiting in the ambulance, a signal. Will did not exactly know, how he should feel about the unfolding situation. In some way, he was really worried, even afraid for Hannibal’s well – being and in the other way he was curious, how the situation would unfold. It felt wrong to feel this way but maybe the stress was wearing himself out, too – his mind was in terrible need of rest, but there seemed to be no other option than to take another dose of aspirin. Since the moment, in which he had started the therapy with Hannibal, his dose of pain – killers to numb his stinging headaches, had exponentially increased. Will was not sure if this kind of thing, he did not want to call it addiction, was doing him anything good. 

His life seemed to be spiraling down. First there had been the Hobbs’ case, which had brought him an unexpected daughter, he never thought about having. Then there had been the case with the killer, wanting to create his own heaven on earth by turning metaphorical demons in angels, bathed in their own blood, where he had wanted to stop consulting for Jack Crawford and the FBI. And now there was the attempted murder of Hannibal, of which Will was, at least to a certain degree, guilty. The neatly organized structures of his life were falling apart, as quickly as the paramedics arrived in the office.  
“Excuse me, sir, but could you lay down onto the litter. Me and my colleague think, that you’re not stable enough to walk to the ambulance.” 

Hannibal stared blankly at the paramedics, while they were unfolding the litter, jacked onto an iron – rack with rolls under its feet. When the older one of the paramedics, whose brown hair was already greying and thinning out on the top, wanted to touch Hannibal, he seemed to froze. The clock on the wall, ticking loudly in the ominous stillness of the office, seemed to froze for a few seconds. For a few seconds, it stayed 11.13 pm – but then hell did break loose. As the paramedic tightened his grip at Hannibal’s biceps, Will saw a change in his therapist’s posture, which changed from “hurt, but too proud to show it” to “ready to attack and rip you apart” in only seconds.  
The attack, Will had seen coming, at least after he had seen the predatory shine in Hannibal’s eyes, never happened – only in his imagination he saw the situation unfold violently – because the paramedic was smart enough to leave Hannibal, in this already tensioned condition, alone. 

After having seen Hannibal’s reaction, the paramedics seemed to be afraid of his temper. If Will had needed one more proof for Hannibal’s bad condition, it had been this one – the other man never, simply never, lost his patience. Even with rude people like Freddy Lounds Hannibal was acting in a polite, but distant, way. Even the people, Hannibal despised, he treated well – Will was deeply worried for his friend. One of his few friends, that seemed to have got even rarer in the last weeks. Alana seemed to distance herself from him. Old friends from the Police Academy did not call anymore. After all, Hannibal seemed to be the only real friend, Will had got left. It was a shocking revelation, but not an unwelcome one. Hannibal had ever been an anchor in Will’s chaotic life. The anchor, that grounded him, when he was starting to lose his mind again. Hannibal was the lighthouse on top of the bluff, eroding cliff, guiding Will’s small boat, lost in the chaotic sea of other’s minds, back to himself. Back so safety. Back to sanity. 

He could not think of a future, where this anchor would not exist anymore. Or would only exist, bound to a hospital bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. They had to treat the concussion. Immediately. The paramedics were right gut Will wanted Hannibal to be treated for selfish reasons. He simply needed his anchor. His save harbor, in the whirlwind of his life.  
“Everything will be fine.”, said Will silently, more to himself than to Hannibal, while he crossed the distance between his place, behind the leather - arm – chair and the litter, flanked by the paramedics.  
As he tried to touch Hannibal, the Doctor intervened and stopped his hand, only a few inches away from the sweaty hand, resting on the armrest of the arm – chair.  
“It wouldn’t be wise to touch your friend in this condition, agent.”  
Will sighed loudly, before he lowered his outstretched arm, a tad too fast to be objective about the whole situation. Dr. Mahone smiled sympathetically at him, while he put his hand on Will’s shoulder to soothe him. It did not work. Will only felt like his personal – space had been invaded but Dr. Mahone did not seem to notice his unease about touching.  
“Will.” 

 

Dr. Mahone stared confused at Will, as if the other men had become insane. Or as if the good doctor had seen a ghost.  
“Pardon me, agent?”, Dr. Mahone asked, obviously confused, while him and Will were watching the paramedics, leading the shaking Hannibal to the litter.  
“It makes me feel uneasy, when you call me “agent”, Doctor. Especially when I’m not even a real FBI – Agent.”  
The paramedics, flanking Hannibal like two gangly bodyguards, had nearly crossed the distance between the big office – desk and the litter, placed only a few feet away from the door. Worried, Will wanted again to reach out but succeeded at suppressing his urge to do so. Hannibal, unsure on his own feet, was swaying between the two paramedics. Dr. Mahone rubbed the bridge of this nose, which made Will only feel more worried for Hannibal’s health, because it was a gesture, that implied desperateness. 

The time in the room seemed to slow down, when Hannibal was only two steps away from the litter. The atmosphere in the room changed in the fraction of a second. First there was this overpowering silence, when the time as well as Hannibal seemed to froze and then there were a few seconds of nothingness. The falling started slowly but happened then, all at once. After the dull sound, when the weight of an adult body hit the ground, there were a few seconds of stillness. No breath disturbed the absolute silence in the room. There were no other sounds, only the ticking of the clock, hanging on the wall.  
When the storm started to break loose, there was nothing restraining Will anymore – he rushed to Hannibal’s side and fell to his knees on the floor, where the other men had collapsed. Dr. Mahone followed quickly, fell to his knees besides Will and started to check Hannibal’s vital functions. Will let the breath, he had been holding since Hannibal had suddenly collapsed, out, when Dr. Mahone nodded courtly to signalize him that everything was alright.

“It will be a long night. For both of us, Will. I think I don’t need to ask if you want to accompany me in the ambulance. I think the answer your answer, had been clear, when you started acting like his panicking wife.”  
Will avoided to look into Dr. Mahone’s sparkling brown eyes, that reminded him of the way Hannibal’s eyes looked, when he was deeply amused from something, Will had said in therapy.  
“Hoist the patient onto the litter. We need to get to the hospital quickly. We can’t be sure what caused his sudden unconsciousness and I want to avoid irreparable damage.”  
Will silently observed, still kneeling where Hannibal had collapsed, the paramedics, when they were strapping his unconscious friend to the litter. With unsteady steps, he followed the medical team, when they were rolling the litter to the elevator, rarely used by Hannibal’s patients.  
The light, illuminating the dark streets, had a greenish touch and there was nothing peaceful to the late evening in Baltimore anymore. A deep, vibrating sound developed, when the litter rolled over the uneven asphalt of the street. All the dark jeeps, belonging to the FBI, had already left the crime scene – they had fled like rats, when the scent, that formed before a thunderstorm, rolled through the streets. 

After Dr. Mahone had climbed into the back of the ambulance car, he waited with an outstretched arm for Will to board the ambulance, too. With unsure steps Will climbed into the back of the ambulance car and closed the thick back doors, which closed with a dull and metallic sound. The sound of the closing doors reverberated for a long time in the deserted streets of Baltimore’s upper class neighborhood.  
The drive to the hospital would not take long – especially not at this time, where the most streets were already deserted. Except for a few 24h – shops or some shabby bars, there had nothing opened at this late time anymore. His watch showed 1.36am, when the driver of the ambulance started the engine.  
“I’m not really sure about the relationship you share with my patient, Will. Is he your friend or something more? You seem pretty fond of him. Excuse me, if I’m a little to forward, but it had been a rough night for all of us.” 

Will put his elbows on his knees to place his face in the palms of his hands. Yellow circles were dancing in front of his blood - shot eyes, when he rubbed a little too hard over his closed eye – lids. In which kind of relationship were Hannibal and himself? He was not sure of the nature of their relationship. It was difficult. Much more so, because Hannibal was everything Will would never be and still did not turn his back on him. Dr. Mahone assumed that Hannibal and him were lovers. Or at least in a sexual relationship – but that had never been the case, which did not mean that Will had not been curious about it. But after all, Will was pretty sure, that Hannibal would never get involved with him. Will, himself, also was not gay. Interested more in personality, than the sex of the person – but until meeting Hannibal, there had never been any homosexual interests, not more than any other men had had, too. 

“He’s my therapist, but also a friend. But not that sort of friend. It’s complicated.”, tried Will to answer Dr. Mahone’s question as honest as he could.  
Will and Dr. Mahone startled both, when the ambulance drove over something hard and they threatened to topple from their seats. Shocked, Will was watching the slight convulsing, that had begun to shake Hannibal’s unconscious body. His friend looked pale and had a sickly yellow taint to his skin. Some small capillaries had ruptured, around Hannibal’s eyes and there was forming a hematoma around the left one. With tightly closed lips, curling at the corners of the mouth, Hannibal was fighting, unconsciously, against the restraints, binding him to the metallic table in the middle of the ambulance car. 

 

Will shied away from the table, which he had rushed to when the seizure had started, as Hannibal opened his eyes. The blinding light inside the back of the ambulance was mirroring in the light brown of his friend’s irises.  
“Where am I?”, asked Hannibal, with his hair more askew, than Will had ever seen it.  
Dr. Mahone was a waiting presence in Will’s back and he knew, that soon he had to take a step back to give the doctor space to do his work.  
“You were attacked from one of your patients. Apparently, you seem to suffer from a severe concussion, which let you collapse into your office. Currently we are at the way to the hospital […]” – Hannibal interrupted Will, in a rude manner, like he would have never dared to do, when not being sick: “Am I a doctor or something?”  
Confused Will stared down at Hannibal, who showed no sign of cognition for him. Dr. Mahone pushed Will to be side, using controlled violence to make room for himself to examine the condition his patient was in. 

“Do you know your name?”  
Will saw Hannibal frowning the simple question, overexerting Hannibal’s mind. There was again an ominous stillness, when Dr. Mahone gave Hannibal the time to think about the question, answer as simple as an answer could be. Just one tiny word: the essence of what humans insisted to be. No animals but the dominant species, ruling over the world, with their given names. Giving names to children a thing only the human race possessed. The only noise, disturbing the silence was Will’s labored breathing and the squeaking, when he rubbed with his sweaty palms over the metal of the litter.  
“Who am I? And who are you? You seem familiar to me, but I’m not able to put a name to both of your faces.”  
Hannibal seemed to suffer from a retrograde amnesia, concerning his episodical memory, memorizing personal information. 

His mind a place of pure darkness, pure blindness. All light bulbs, symbolizing the memory consolidation, short circuited and fused. No memory, no knowledge, no relationships - nothing but black swirling nothingness. Damned to spend the rest of his life in a catatonic condition, not able to consolidate knowledge. Hippocampus - the depicted mind palace - irreparable damaged, Hannibal would have to live a life, relying on others to tell him who he was. A gruesome fate, even crueler than death would have been.  
When the weeping started, Will put his hands over his ears, trying to escape the silent wailing. The silent wailing, making him feel guilty for things he could not be guilty of

The day had gone from worse to hell in the fraction of a second.


	2. Intermezzo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Second part finally done. Hard way to get there - but now we're here. Don't feel bad to message me if something is not right with the grammar or if I made spelling mistakes. Thank you for replying, by the way. Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter and have fun reading it. Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

The drive to the hospital was short. Too short to take a nap, but too long to avoid becoming drowsy. Will’s head was swaying from one side to the other, while the driver of the ambulance was violating every speed regulation. The light, illuminating the metallic and sterile furniture in the ambulance, was too bright, too bright to even think about thinking rational. He was not able to function, his body too tired to work and his mind overstimulated by all the emotional input. His emotions were crashing against the osseous structures of his skull, like waves, colliding with a bold cliff, raising from the depths of a pitch-black sea. 

Dr. Mahone had sedated Hannibal, as he had started to get a panic – attack. Will had silently watched how a yellow liquid had been syringed into the peripheral venous line, placed in Hannibal’s back of the hand. It had not been long until every tension had left Hannibal’s body, finally sinking motionless back to the metal – litter in the middle of the ambulance.  
The ambulance stopped very sudden, causing Will to awake with a start – he had not really slept, but he had been near to falling into a light slumber. The siren was still howling, when the doors of the ambulance were opened from the outside by the two paramedics, looking as tired as Will and Mahone did. 

On the outside, it was dark, even the stars and moon were not visible, hidden behind clouds – a night, where the darkness seemed to defeat every light. The street, they had been coming from, was a black, curvy line in the distance and Will felt isolated from all people. He had never felt so lonely before. Not even in Wolf Trap, where he had no company beside his dogs and the occasional unwelcome guest, he mostly only wanted to ignore. Guilt was the only emotion he felt. Guilt in a choking way. It was like, if the guilt, for the things that had caused Hannibal’s current condition, was choking him slowly to death – taking its sweet time in seeing him gasping for air. 

Will lowered his eyes, as he saw the paramedics, working in a routinized way. He could not stand seeing the condition, Hannibal was in. The pretty bad condition. Hair askew and lips slack from the sedative, Hannibal was lying on his back, arms hanging limply from the sides of the metal litter. A small line of saliva was running over Hannibal’s slack lips, while the paramedics unhooked him from the infusion, filled with sodium chloride solution. Will had never seen the other man in such a pathetic condition, he felt like an intruder in this episode of Hannibal’s life. He had no right to be here. He had not right to see Hannibal like this. Hannibal, who never wore anything than perfectly pressed clothes and suits, that probably did cost more, than Will’s monthly salary. 

Witnessing this situation, Hannibal weak as nobody probably had ever seen him, was not right. Will wanted to leave this place, pretending that nothing had changed between Hannibal and him, even if it had fundamentally.  
“Will?”  
Will startled up, when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. As he turned around, he was greeted by a sympathetic smile.  
“It has been a long night but I’m afraid that you can’t do anything for your friend at this time.”  
Dr. Mahone took his hand from Will’s shoulder, as he sensed the tension in the other man’s shoulders. The agent was really a strange human - being. He had something dark about him, that lurked in the dark corners of his ribcage, where no light would ever shine. 

The agent seemed haunted, Dr. Mahone was not sure by which demons, but something, nonetheless, seemed to bother Will. While going to medical school, he had seen enough “Wills” – the loners with the brilliant minds, the ones, who easily could win a Nobel prize. But he had seen enough Hannibal’s too, the most of them were nowadays working in the surgery department – also loners, but selfish as hell. Maybe he was wrong, because the tiredness was making him feel a little high – adrenaline, coursing through his bloodstream, but he was sure, that Dr. Lecter’s intentions, concerning Will, were not so generous as the other wanted everyone to believe. 

“Can I stay with him? It will certainly ground him if he’ll see a familiar face, when waking up from his unconsciousness.”  
Dr. Mahone felt obligated to be honest with Will, but he knew, from experience, how the type human, Hannibal was, could get – so he decided to stay silent. He could not tell Will that Hannibal was not, what Will saw in him because it would put his own life in danger. After all he had seen from the other man, Hannibal was dangerous. Dangerous enough to bring Dr. Mahone to lie, a sin he normally despised in people. 

“We need to run a few tests on him to check if he’s developing an intracranial hematoma, so I need to disappoint you, Will, but you cannot stay with Dr. Lecter at this step of his treatment.”, said Dr. Mahone in a calm voice. He could not keep Will away from Hannibal for long but maybe it would keep the agent save, at least for a short time. There was nothing more, he could do for the Agent if he did not want to danger his own life. Dr. Lecter was a dangerous man, by all accounts. He certainly had skeletons in the closet but Dr. Mahone would not be the one to find them. Hopefully, Will would, too, not be the one to discover the bodies Hannibal hid behind perfect manners and a flawless person – suit – because it would be the agent’s doom. A doom, ending bleeding to death in a dark alley. 

 

Without a word of goodbye Dr. Mahone left Will alone, while the paramedics where rolling Dr. Lecter to the back door of the emergency room. He could not risk his life for the agent, a man he barely knew. His family was relying on him in coming home safely after his shift. Without a look back at Will, he followed the clanging litter, rolled by the paramedics. He would treat Hannibal in the hope, that the other man would leave his station quickly. That Hannibal would leave him and his family alone.  
All alone, Will stood in night, staring up in the cloudy sky, when the howling of the ambulance car silenced and he heard the silent puffing of the black ravensstag, standing in the shadow of the hospital. Confused he turned his head in the direction, the puffing was coming from. The pitch – black bottomless seas of swirling darkness, the stag seemed to have instead of eyes, were fixating him with a thousand – yard stare. As he took a step in the direction, the creature was standing in, the beast tensed, ready to flee if necessary. As the alarm of a car, nearby, started to howl through the silent night, Will blinked and the stag had vanished. He felt the deep urge to run away – to follow the stag. Away from the things, that were waiting inside the cold stone-walls of the hospital. Tired from the long night, he rubbed his eyes and tried to fight his heavy tiredness. He needed a cup of coffee – immediately.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The smell of cheap hospital coffee had taken a hold of the even cheaper fake – leather of the uncomfortable chairs, standing against the white walls of the waiting room. There was no other smell so permanent, as the stale smell of watery coffee - even the smell of the, ever dominant, antiseptic lotion was not so strong. So, irritant.

 Flashing lights were blinding his sight, when Will awoke with a start from a restless sleep.

He had dreamed about death – again about death. About Hannibal’s death in particular. If Budge would have aimed a little better with his violin string, he would have been able to strike Hannibal down. Hannibal would be dead, by now. No hope for rescue.  Will, again, alone in this world. Misunderstood by most people and forced to look at crime scenes, without the knowledge that there was someone he could turn to, when doubting his own sanity.

The cup of coffee, standing between his outstretched legs, tumbled over, when he wanted to flex the cramping muscles of his thighs. Sighing, he watched the coffee leak on the polished floor. He did not feel ready to face the consequences, caused through all the things that had happened in the night. Especially, he did not feel able to meet Hannibal – not when the anger was coiling into his stomach. The anger about his inability to do anything.

The only thing he could do was waiting. Waiting for somebody to tell him about Hannibal’s condition. Waiting for the FBI to arrive to pester him with questions. And at least, waiting for some of his friends, to phone him, so that someone would leave the dogs out. Pee on his floorboards was the last thing, he needed to deal with, at this moment.

While Will had been staring absently on the puddle of watery coffee, between his legs, the daily routine in the hospital had started to begin. Nurses were hurrying to switch from one station to the other in the, ill – lit hospital corridors, doctors were arriving, discussing the daily round and the first relatives, waiting to visit their sick ones, had started a fight, in front of the waiting room – between all this trouble sat Will, trapped in inactivity. He felt disorientated. So tired, that he could sleep weeks in row, if he would fall asleep now. And somehow, confused too. It had to be hours, since Mahone had passed the doors, painted with red letters, reading ICU (Intensive care unit).  

Confused, he stared down on his stomach, when a loud grumbling was echoing through the empty waiting room. Empty, excluding him.

A clock was ticking on the wall, opposite the chair he was sitting on – a clacking noise, when the hour hand passed the twelve. Again and again. The grumbling of his stomach and the ticking of the clock were forming a slumberous melody, replaying itself every sixty seconds. Will felt reminded of the clocks, he had to draw for Dr. Lecter. The first one, when the sleepwalking had started. When he had driven a car without being conscious. Without knowing that he had did so.

The last one, only a few days before Budge had attacked Hannibal. They had been always drawn well, not artistically but right – he seemed to be healthy, but he did not feel like it. He felt sick. Sick in mind and body. The sickness of the body, causing the progredient delusion, clouding his mind.

Loud steps were echoing through the plain corridor, leading to the waiting room Will was sitting in. Someone was coming – probably to inform him, that he was still not allowed to visit Hannibal like it had happened countless times, during this very long night. Hannibal’s condition was too fragile – at least according to the doctor on duty. All tests, that needed to be done, still not done. A bunch of reasons, only excuses for the fact, that the doctors did not want him to interact with Hannibal.

 

Probably it was even wise to forbid him visiting Hannibal. Hannibal had lost his memories – Will himself was delusional, not most of the time but often enough, maybe the doctors feared the outcome of this interaction. Maybe they feared that Will could make Hannibal delusional too – he was pretty sure, that he would not, but in fact he had never had to deal with someone, suffering from retrograde amnesia. At least no one close to him had suffered from total memory loss. He certainly had read about it in college, when studying criminal psychology but at this time it had only been stuff he had to study to pass an exam. Now he would have needed that knowledge because he was pretty sure that it was pretty difficult to deal with a person, knowing nothing. Not even the own name. Not even the simplest memories, that had brought joy or sadness.

“May I ask you some questions, agent?”, asked a tired Dr. Mahone, standing directly in front of Will.

“You may if you tell me about Dr. Lecter’s condition.”, announced Will, manipulating the doctor in feeling guilty if he would not give him information in exchange for answering medical questions. Without asking Dr. Mahone sat down on the chair besides Will’s chair, which squeaked loudly.

“Do you know if Dr. Lecter has any namable relatives?”

Will internally rolled his eyes. He wanted information but it seemed like everyone in the hospital wanted to keep him away from getting it.

“No, none that I have knowledge of. At least not in America.”

Dr. Mahone ticked a small box on the white paper, that he had clipped onto a clip board, resting on his lap. Minutes seemed like hours. Especially when Will was nothing but hungry and annoyed.

“Do you know if he is married or in a relationship?”

The next pointless question. They next one Will had only superficial knowledge of. 

Why do you ask me all these questions, doctor?”, he asked tired, while rubbing his eyes, making bright circles of light dance in front of his half – closed eye – lids. On the corridor, leading to the plain waiting room, the daily trouble had started to begin. Loud steps, clacking noises, when a hospital bed was rolled away and the droning of many overlapping conservations.

“We can’t leave someone, who is not related to him, visit him. Not in this condition.”, explained the doctor, while folding his hands in his lap. Will had enough of the half – truths, they were telling him. A never ending merry – go – round of white lies to keep him away from the truth. The truth, that Hannibal’s condition – how he hated this plain term – could be permanent. He was not stupid.

“You always tell me about “this condition”. I don’t know if you think of me as stupid, doctor, but I’m not that dense. There is something you want to keep away from me. Something about Hannibal you do not tell me.” Mahone lifted his hands in an appeasing way but there was no way to appease Will. Not when everybody, working on the ICU, was taking him for a fool. Hell, he had a university degree in criminal psychology. He was capable of understanding simple medical descriptions, he was no fool. At the moment, the half – truths, told by all the medical stuff, made him slightly aggressive. Aggressive in an annoyed way.

“Will.”, addressed directly he did turn his head to the doctor, “we don’t want to take you for a fool but you have to understand that a mind, influenced by a severe concussion, can be easily confused. Currently there are no psychological symptoms but your presence could change that. Your presence would destabilize Hannibal Lecter’s current condition because his brain would try to put a name to your face. He needs time to heal as you do, too.”

Will felt like all air had been sucked out of his lungs. The feeling of hopelessness was settling at the pit of his stomach.

“If it was your friend, lying in a hospital bed. wouldn’t you want to help him, too? Is it so difficult to understand my reasoning?”, Will asked, while rising from the uncomfortable chair. Dr. Mahone held him back by putting a big hand on his shoulder. The goosebumps that erupted on Will’s skin were not caused by a positive feeling – he felt invaded in his personal space.

“You may visit him for a few minutes, before my colleagues do the daily round at 8am. Pass the glass – door to the ICU, the first door on the right. Be careful to leave the room before the other doctors arrive.”

The doctor turned his back to Will, when the other man sneaked in the ICU. What he had not seen, he could not be guilty of. A simple explanation to silence the doubt, resurfacing in his tired mind.

“Thank you, Doctor.” Will’s voice tainted by unspoken gratefulness.

“Will?”, asked in a silent and defensive way. He did not want to turn to Dr. Mahone, probably forbidding him visiting Hannibal. If he would run, he could hide in one of the many rooms, which were part of the spacious ICU. He felt indecisive. He did not know what to do. What was right and what was wrong. He felt overwhelmed – decision – making had never been his best trait.

“Be careful.” The voice of the other man had sounded scared but probably Will had only misinterpreted the situation. He was certainly not the person, able to give chapter and verse for reading people right. Hannibal was that kind of person. Had been that kind of person, before the incident had happened. Before Will’s life had went from already worse to hell.

When Will turned to the glass door, separating the normal station from the ICU, Dr. Mahone had already left the corridor. He was all alone in the corridor. A silent clicking echoed over the deserted hallway, when the door closed fully. Now he was trapped with the severe cases, which were treated in the hospital. Maybe that was the place he belonged to. Had always belonged too. There had to be an explanation for his own condition – like the severe concussion was the cause of Hannibal’s condition.

The doors he passed by looked all the same, plain white doors with room – numbers. He had not the slightest clue in which room, Hannibal had been placed. There were no doors on the right side of the corridor. Dr. Mahone must have been confused or he had lied voluntary. Will did not know what to think about the Doctor but he had run out of steam to empathize with the other men. When he was honest, he never wanted to emphasize again – it did no good for his mental health.

  A nurse was sitting in front of a PC – screen, sipping on a small cup of stale hospital coffee – from the same brand Will had been drinking a few hours prior.

“Good morning. It’s good to meet someone, working for the hospital. I’m working for the FBI and I need to visit one of your patients. My supervisor commissioned me to do so.” The nurse, looking tiredly at Will, who was a bad liar, was not buying his story. Will felt ashamed but now there was no turning back, anymore. With his hands shaking, he fumbled for his badge, identifying him as consultant for the FBI and held it in front of the glass panel, separating the room, the nurse was sitting in, from the hallway, he was standing in.

“Name?” The nurse did not look up from the key board in front of her and continued tipping, while Will put his FBI badge away.

“Hannibal Lecter.” The silent ticking of the keys stopped, when the nurse turned her head to the left to look at the list, providing information about the room occupancy.

Her voice was soft with a little edge, that made her sound foreign. Maybe she was. She did at least not look like the occasional Caucasian woman in her mid – thirties. The work in the hospital drained her joyfulness, she had to have possessed a long time ago, away. Now she seemed to, rather, drown her demons in alcohol than to spread love and joy through the world. She felt hatred for the world and he could totally understand her. In some things, the nurse and himself were pretty similar. Exhaustion was the dominant feature in their life.

“Room No. 14. The last one on the right side. Don’t forget to wear a medical protection – overall.”

The nurse, Magarete said her badly written name – tag, was looking back at the PC – screen, paying no attention to Will anymore. Scanning the metal plates with the room – numbers Will stumbled through the hallway.

On the last door, indeed on the right side of the corridor, was nailed a small metal – plate with the number 14. A small cupboard, placed on a board with rolls, was filled with transparent plastic – overalls. He blindly gripped one and tried to step into the pant legs but he was swaying heavily on his legs. A loud noise was echoing through the deserted hallways, which let him freeze in the uncomfortable position, he was currently in – standing on one leg, trying to hold the balance. Will had to hurry, if he did not want to be discovered – quickly he stepped in the other pant leg and pulled the cheap plastic up. The zipper, reaching from his hip to his chin, got stuck. Panic was coursing through his veins. If the nurses or the doctors would discover, what he was doing, they would throw him out of the hospital. He had to be fast. Really fast.

When the voices, coming from the other side of the glass – door, separating the ICU from the normal neurological station, Will froze in his hasty dressing. As silent as possible, he reached on the top of the cupboard for the box with the nitrile – gloves.

When the button, opening the door automatically with a silent pinging, was pushed, he slipped into the room, Hannibal was currently lying in. His heart was racing when the chatting doctors passed the door to Hannibal’s room, without entering. Sweating, Will pressed against the wood of the door. His breath was coming in short puffs, steaming the paper of his respirator mask. When the doctors left the corridor of the ICU, Will let the breath, he had been holding, out. The monitor of the electrocardiogram was giving a slight beeping, whenever Hannibal took a breath. It was monotonous. Dull even.

Dr. Lecter looked, shockingly, pale in the thin hospital gown with the distasteful pattern. His veins prominent, nearly like snakes winding their curved bodies, under the nearly translucent skin of his forearms.

The early morning light, falling through the closed blinds, made Hannibal seem even more sick, than the bluish glow of the medical instruments. Cautiously, to avoid scaring Hannibal, Will approached the hospital bed. Something seemed to disturb Hannibal’s sleep. His left hand, not bandaged, was twitching slightly. Behind his closed eyelids, Hannibal’s eyeballs were rolling quickly from one side to the other, which made Will notice the increasing pulse rate on the monitor, belonging to the ECG. The monotonous beeping got arrhythmic and frantic.

Will froze, when Hannibal’s formerly slack lips started to tremble too, like his whole body had begun to do, when the pulse rate had increased only seconds ago. Somewhere in the distance, the dying animal, he had heard when interrogating Tobias Budge, started howling again. It was a quiet sound. Haunting, sounding exactly like the howling of ghosts was described in hundreds of horror stories for children.

“Mischa.”, Hannibal wailed silently, before trashing wildly around. Will stood froze on the small place between the monitors and the edge of the hospital bed, unable to do anything. As Hannibal’s lamenting got louder, the howling in Will’s head increased proportional with it. There was nothing but noise, filling his buzzing head. Nothing as fearful wailing. Painful noises, even more painful because of knowing, whom they did come from.

Will put his hands over his ears to shut down the increasing noise, numbing his own mind and making specks of golden light flickering in front of his wide – opened eyes. Eyes wide like a deer, caught in the headlights, he stared at Hannibal. Hannibal, haunted by his past. The past, he never shared with anyone. A past he always talked in a rationalized way about – a topic, where he always smoothly changed topics. With a blank stare, Will tried to fixate on the small lines of light, falling through the small slits between the closed blinds. What he saw there could not be true. It could not be true. There was no terrestrial explanation, that could explain, what he saw. With wide – opened eyes, unblinking.

On the plastic chair, standing in the edge of the room by the window-side, was sitting Hobbs, applauding him. _See? See, what you’ve done?_  Scared, Will stumbled back, back colliding with the door. The howling of the animal, that did not exist outside of Will’s mind was mixing with Hannibal’s silent weeping.

With wide opened eyes, he stumbled through the door, colliding with a doctor, passing by on the floor. The doctor looked utterly confused, before he started to ask furiously about “what in the hell Will had been thinking, when stealing into the ICU” – but Will was not listening anymore. The howling, bleeding through the door, was haunting him. With unsteady steps, he stumbled over the corridor. Collided with a nurse, rolling a litter with a patient. Tumbled over and hit his head pretty hard.

With a deep sigh the nurse stopped at his side, where he was staring blankly at the wall, while lying shaking on the cold linoleum – floorboards.

“There is a room with a shower at the end of this corridor. Actually, it is only for doc’s but I suppose you could need a long shower and long nap.” Sympathetically she helped him to stand up on his own wobbly legs, which made Will feel like a little, dependent child. He felt horrible helpless. It The situation nothing but humiliating.

Silently, he leaned onto the arm of the nurse, placed over his shaking shoulders. The howling silenced the farther they got away from Hannibal’s hospital room, where the whole ICU was descending into utter chaos. Doctors were hurrying over the floor, the talking increased to a droning volume and doors were slamming – there was utter chaos at the ICU and Will had been the cause of it. Dr. Mahone had been right: He should have never visited Hannibal – not in this condition. Not, when he, himself, was seeing things, that were not really there. Not when he saw the ravensstag, stalking in his direction. Nobody else saw the magnificent creature and Will was more than sure, that he was losing his mind – ultimately.

As they rounded the corner, Will still leaning onto the nurse, the chaos suddenly stopped. It was like passing a magic portal to another dimension. The silence was nearly outright, when they stopped in front of a plain white door. After squeezing his hand encouragingly, the nurse left. He was all alone - again. Even the stag had left him alone. Vanished without any physical explanation for his sudden presence. Losing his mind had never felt more real than in this exact moment.  

The metal under his fingers felt cold, when he pressed the handle of the door down and slipped into the bathroom. Mechanically he undressed, unable to feel anything. He felt numb. Overwhelmed. And exhausted. The water of the shower was lukewarm, not scalding enough to burn away his shame about his own irresponsible behavior, but hot enough to make his sweaty skin sting. He needed the pain, prickling on his sensitive skin, to ground himself.

Droplets of water were running over his face, which he had turned heavenwards to look up into the spray of warm water. The drops of water, falling down on his body, made a monotonous sound, when hitting the floor of the shower – it made him feel drowsy. It got more difficult to keep his eyes open. Eyelids heavy like a lead weight.

The sound of the water – drops, hitting the plastic-walls of the shower-stall, felt calming. There was a certain sense of peace to it in its monotony. A certain kind of pause, where his mind was not processing, decoding, and encoding new information. Under the lukewarm water of the shower, he felt for the first time, in a long time, an inner sense of peacefulness. There were no thoughts. No murder. No hurt and pain. There was nothing but blank nothingness. The special kind of nothingness he did not even reach when falling asleep. Simple blackness. No shade of grey, disturbing the blank space, filled with swirling darkness, in his mind

When he stopped the shower, he shivered, because a cold breeze of air from the air condition system hit his naked body. He wrapped into one of the scratchy hospital towels and sat down onto the bed, mostly used by doctors, working in the nightshift.

Sometimes sleep was enough to cure people. Maybe it would be enough to cure himself from the demons, haunting him – at this time, nearly every night. Naked he wrapped himself into the thin blanket, lying as a bundle one the small bed, when he heard the increasing noise on the other side of the door. He did not want to know, what was going on, on the outside of his small shelter. His small shelter, built by four plain, white walls and a small heater on the opposite wall of the shower – stall.

When the shouting on the corridor reached its high, Will had already fallen asleep. The stag, standing beside him, surveying him with a scrutinizing gaze. Eyes as black as gleaming coals. In Will’s dreams the clacking of heels, hitting the linoleum – floor of the hospital, sounded like the slow parading of the stag up and down the corridor. The wheezing air – condition sounded like breathing and the blackness, swirling around, behind his closed eyelids, felt restrictive.

There was no warmth to the black nothingness anymore. There was danger, hidden behind the swirling darkness, reflected in the stag’s empty eyes. The stag’s presence a silent warning. A warning Will was not aware of. A least not at this moment. At this moment he was sleeping, the nightmares, crawling under his pillow, for the first time in a long time perfectly still.

Undisturbed he slept until his phone, lying on the cold tiles of the floor, where he had left his jeans, started buzzing. Puzzled, he rubbed over his stinging eyes, while trying to locate the place, where he had undressed. The light in the room had gone out, while he had been slumbering peaceful – without any disturbance.

He was alone. The stag had again, magically, vanished. Again: all alone in the darkness. Darkness after all nothing more than the pure absence of light. Tired, he sat up in the tiny bed, when a loud banging on the door, dividing this room from the corridor, leading to the ICU, started. Startled the stumbled out of his bed, reaching blindly for his clothes, when an electronic pinging filled the small room. The door opened a tiny crack and blinding light filled the room, when the person on the other side, tried to enter the room

“There is someone, who wants to see you, Agent.”, the nurse, which had brought him here, said, voice small, while doing so. He could not stand it anymore to be called agent. He was still no agent but nobody seemed to care for that. Nobody seemed to care for him in general. He had to function – like a small toy-soldier, winded up but broken in the basic mechanics.

When the nurse tried to open the door the fully, his clothes stopped the trying. Embarrassed about his current state of nakedness, the nurse waited besides the half-open door, until Will left the room dressed.

“He will meet you in front of the surgery department. You did not answer your phone, so he sent me to wake you up. Take the stairs to the third floor, turn right and follow the corridor until you stand in front of a glass – door. Ring the bell and wait for someone to open the door for you.”, the nurse, a young woman, probably not older than twenty, explained to him, while already hurrying in the opposite direction, away from him. Probably away from his madness. Smart girl. Smart girl with a promising future.

Will did not even know who he had to expect behind the glass door. Mahone? Another surgeon? Confused he reached for the phone in the back – pocket of his jeans and looked up, who had tried to call him. Twenty-five missed calls from Jack. Two from Beverly. And even one from Jimmy. Whatever it was, it had to be important. He was really not ready to face all of them. Not after what had happened on the corridor, in front of Dr. Lecter’s room. Not after his irresponsible behavior, which had put Hannibal’s full recovery in danger.

As slow as possible, without halting his steady walking pace, he followed the instructions, the nurse had given him. Whatever had happened, he seemed to be involved, at least to a certain degree. Whatever it was, it seemed important but he could not bring himself to walk faster. He hated confrontation, as much as he hated being psychoanalyzed and this talk would inhabit both.

Unsure he paused in front of the big glass – door, reading the letters “Surgery – Please only enter, if wearing sterile clothes”. The curved letters gave him the perfect explanation, why he could not meet up with the other employees of the FBI. He could simply turn around and leave for the better. Maybe it would be even wise to leave now, when nobody had seen him.

The decision was taken from him, when the glass – door opened with a quiet pinging and a doctor, wearing a respiratory mask, was holding it open for him.

“I suppose you’re one of the men from the FBI? The last room, on the left. It’s pretty bad in there. I hope you’re used to blood and scurrility. Feel warned.”, said the doctor, grinning at him like a maniac. The peace, he had felt, when lying on the small bed in the plain white room, moments ago, was gone. Completely vanished, when the doctor had superficially described the crime scene. Will, simply, did not want to look. Murder was not the thing, he wanted to begin his day with.

If he was honest, he had never had a choice. Not even a slight one, after Jack had approached him on the dooming afternoon, where the wind had been howling around the corners of the FBI academy. The first dry leaves had been falling to the ground, already frozen in the cold mornings, where everybody hurried to get to their workplace. Most people still wore the light jackets, they had been wearing in the summer, but now they wrapped thick scarves around their necks to keep the biting wind out. It was becoming autumn and everybody knew it but the most of them, like it was normal for humans, were denying it.

“Thank you, doctor.” Will kept his conservation with the doctor short. The doctor had been expecting more. More answers. More information but Will was not the one to give it to the employees of the hospital. The last thing he wanted, in this morning, where winter was turning slowly into spring, was starting a fight with Jack because of submitting information, that had to be kept secret.

The surgery – department practically stank like antiseptic lotion, there was no denying it. The walls smelled like it. The doctor, who had been holding the heavy glass – door open for Will, had smelled like it. And even the floor, that had the same color as the sterilizing lotion had, smelled a little bit like it. Everything one the station, inhabiting a few operating rooms, was like antiseptic lotion. Sterile, plain, colorless und lifeless. Only the blood, oozing through under the threshold, destroyed the atmosphere of neatness on the sterile station.

Deadly, he stopped in front of the door, where the blood was building a puddle, tinted in a deep shade of red. The coppery smell of it was everywhere on the corridor, infiltrating his nose and sticking to the hard palate in his mouth.

Will was utterly confused that there seemed to be no police officers, securing the crime scene. Unsure what to do and if he was allowed to enter the crime scene, probably in the room, where the blood was oozing through under the threshold, he waited on the corridor in a safe distance from the growing puddle.

Tired, his bones felt as heavy as if they had been replaced with stones, he leaned against the cold tiles of the wall, behind him. The corridor was totally deserted. A cold breeze whispered through the deserted hallway and brushed Will’s naked neck, where the bruise of the violin string was standing out in a striking blue against the usual paleness of his skin. Goosebumps erupted on his skin and he rubbed over the cold skin of his neck, trying to get the uncomfortable feeling, that was nagging at his skin, away. He felt watched and probably he was even being watched.

There were no visible cameras but he could not be sure of hidden ones. How far had it come with his madness? First: Seeing things that were not there. Then: Hearing dead people speak to him, manipulating him in doing gruesome things and now: paranoia? He was afraid of the direction, that his mental condition was developing in. Madness was screeching at the walls of his skull, dividing his mind from the world on the outside, and was nearly broken through. He was near losing his mind. Losing the last bit of sanity, that he had tried to hold onto.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins, when he saw the dark shadow of the stag, reflected on the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, but could not see the stag itself anywhere. Something that was not there had now apparently, a shadow, even when it was itself not there. Even when it was not real.

“Will. It’s good to see you, even if it is under such gruesome circumstances.”, said Jack in his low timbre, echoing through the deserted hallways of the surgery department. Will stared blankly at the wall but startled when he saw that the shadow, that he had confused for the illusion of the stag, had been Jack’s shadow all the time.

“What do we’ve here?”, Will asked, while avoiding to hold Jack’s gaze, examining the pathetic condition he was in. Curls askew, falling unkempt into his forehead. Eyes bloodshot. Skin sweaty, even a little greasy around the nose and sickly pale.

“Looks like one of the Ripper’s victims. But my team is not sure.”

Not that again. How Will hated the psychopaths, he had to deal with day for day. The Chesapeake Ripper the worst of them: Highly educated, no determinated victim profile, not impulsive, well read in Philosophy, History and Architecture, good knowledge in the surgical field and so sure of himself, that he was continuing his little flirtation with the FBI, even if they were examining all the hospitals in and around Baltimore.

“What does “not sure” mean? I mean Dr. Lecter is only a few corridors away. You need to be more precise with me.”, asked Will, voice a little too low, to hide his emotional involvement in the whole situation.  Jack examined him with a scrutinized look, frowning, while staring from Will to the door, hiding the crime scene, and back to Will.

“The secret visit in Dr. Lecter’s hospital room will have consequences for you. Consequences, I can’t keep you safe from but now I want you to look at the crime scene and tell me, if we have one of the Chesapeake Ripper’s here or another copycat kill.”

Jack had approached Will, crowding him a little nearer against the wall, tiles cold against the flannel of Will’s shirt. When Jack took a step back from Will, he hurried to the door, avoiding to step into the puddle of blood, oozing through under the threshold.

“We will find an alternative hospital for Dr. Lecter when it is clear that this “[…] Jack pushed the wooden door open […]” is one of the Ripper’s murders.”

The first thing, Will saw was the mass of blood, that had been pumped out of the male body, hanging strapped into the cables of several medical devices. Spraying blood had tinted the walls in sprinkles of red as dark as red wine in the shine of a crackling fire.

“Did he took any organs as trophies?” Will could not be sure if the man, who had been bleeding to death, had all organs, because his abdomen had been butchered to a bloody mess. Roses had been formed, taking his intestine as material, like it was done in fancy restaurants, using Prosciutto.

“We’re not so sure. There was one eye missing, also an ear but otherwise there are no body parts or organs missing.”

It looked like one of the Chesapeake Ripper’s murders but something did not quite fit into the picture, Jack believed to be a Ripper kill. The style of presentation fit into the design of the ripper but there was this small speck of doubt, that made Will not so sure if this kill had not been the one of a further copycat killer, trying to impress the Chesapeake Ripper.

While pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves, Will approached the crime scene and examined the victim. Male, in his late thirties, dark hair, approximately six feet tall and not more than 180 pounds  - probably less, in sight of his slight build.

“Did the killer open the abdomen before death or after the men, had bled to death?”

He gave Jack time to think, while he rounded the body, hanging limply into the chaos of different cables, knotted with each other. Cautiously, he touched the tubes, that led from the prominent veins of the victim’s forearms to the dialysis-machine, that had been used in reverse to bleed the man to death mechanically.

“The killer opened his abdomen, when the man was near death. There was hardly any blood flow anymore, too, when the ear and eye had been removed. The hematoma, forming on the edges of the surgical cuts, are so pale, that the man had to have lost over the half of his blood – volume at the time, where the mutilations had happened.”, Beverly Katz intervened, leaning against the wall, opposite from the crime scene, before she silently left the room. Will’s gaze lingered, longer than necessary, on the place she had been standing in, after she had left, because he was sure that the killer had  been standing at this place, too. Leaning relaxed against the wall, watching his victim bleed to death but denying the victim the honor to die, while looking the killer in the eye.

Will was not ready to close his eyes, mentally not stable enough to dive into the psychotic mind of a psychopath as bad as the Chesapeake Ripper but he had no choice, if he wanted to save innocent people from the fate, that the man in front of him, had to suffer.

Behind his closed eyelids, it was dark and perfectly still. Nothing but the clacking noise of his swinging pendulum, bathed in a golden glow, echoed through his mind. Three times the pendulum over crossed the twelve, the zenith, before Will saw himself as the killer.

_I come into this room. My intent clear. The doctor is working at the dialysis machine, a punishment for violation of the hospital rules. He is so fixated on his task, repairing the reverse function of the medical devise. The dialysis – machine does not what it shall do – it does not pump the blood back into the patient’s veins but lets it flow freely on the floor of the hospital room._

_I’m know how to use this malfunction to show the world my design. This is no kill for pleasure. Nor do I kill to reveal myself. I kill because I want to. Because the doctor discovered my secret. My secret, for which revelation would come to early._

_I’m weak. Normally I’m not but now I’m hurt. At least physically. My last victim was strong and I was not cautious enough. A fail, that will never happen again – a fail, that could cost me my freedom to ignite the blind humans, looking away from all the stupidity and rudeness, ruling the world. I will never fail again. Emotional attachment makes us weak, I have to divide myself fully from it._

_The doctor continues working, he pauses, when I approach him, but he trusts me. I am not his friend, nor his colleague but he trusts me, nonetheless. Probably I work in the same field as he does. At least I have medical knowledge and the doctor knows, that he can rely on that knowledge._

_His throat constricts and he trashes around, when I strangle him until he becomes unconscious. The thin skin, lying over his larynx, feels cold and clammy, when I let his motionless body sink to the floor. My medical knowledge makes it easy to put the tube into the prominent vein on the radial side of his forearm. With expertise, I strap the cables through the thin skin over his rips and pelvis. Naked as god once made the man, I wake him with a piece of wool, dipped into ammoniac. My knowledge of the human body and toxins is pretty good – I’m a pharmacist or at least a doctor with good knowledge in pharmacology._

_He is pathetic and I deny him a death, while looking me in the eye. I set the malfunctioning dialysis machine on a steady pace - pumping the blood, out of the doctor’s body. He does not beg me to spare him. He knows that I never spare my victims, if I do it is to make them suffer even more._

_The blood is being pumped out of his veins in a steady pace. His skin loses its rosy glow – it becomes pale and develops a yellowish color. Under his fragile rips, his heart is fighting to save the body from circulation – shock. It will not take long anymore until the doctor will die. I set the pace of the pumping a little slower and approach the doctor. His dark – brown eyes, always so trustful, already glossy and under the shade of life, tinted by the increasing dullness of death._

_Before he loses consciousness again, I remove the left ear and right eye. I do not deny him the honor to die, while looking me in the eye anymore, because he proved worthy in the process of dying. Dying changed him to a worthy opponent._

_Bloody tears run over his cheek, when he takes his last breath. He is dead. Dead like all the poets, all the scientist and all the great artists. He is dead like I am, too. Dead, like leafs, falling down from the trees in the autumns. Dead, like animals, dying in the winter, when starvation is normality in the cruelty of nature._

_Even his glorious, his almighty medicine had not had the slightest chance to save the good, ol’ doctor. Medicine is not the answer to every sickness, every injury, and every carcinoma - I am the answer. The ultimate answer._

_This is my design._

“It is not the Chesapeake Ripper. They’re pretty similar in the design, they want the world to see but it isn’t him. The man, we’re looking for is probably also working in the medical field but he has lost someone dear to him to a sickness or an injury. He is deeply angry on the modern medicine, which was not able to help him cure his relative. Probably his wife or his daughter.”, Will explained, while furiously rubbing his temples to ease his upcoming headache.

“Can we be sure of it? How sure are you that this man is no victim of the Ripper?”, asked Jack, while striding from one side of the room to the other. Jack felt trapped and Will knew it, knew exactly how Jack felt. If the doctor had been a Ripper’ victim, they would have had a realistic choice to catch him, because he would have started to indulge in lacking attention and precision.

“Jack. I’m never sure of anything but this man […]” Will turned to the body, naked and humiliated, hanging limply between the cables, […] “is not a victim of the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Jack stopped in his striding, growling low, before he approached the victim, presented in the middle of the room. “You do tell me that this is not the work of the Chesapeake Ripper?”, Jack asked angry, pulling the head of the victim up, to show Will the pale face, totally exsanguinated.

Will lowered the gaze when he recognized the man, killed in this gruesomely humiliating way. Sighing, Jack let the head of the victim cautiously down onto the naked chest, caked in dried blood.

“I knew the victim. He was the doctor on call, treating Dr. Lecter after Tobias Budge attack.”, said Will silently, fighting down the vomit, that was making his throat burn.

“Dr. Mahone, traumata surgeon in the John Hopkins, yes. We knew his name, not that he was involved with Dr. Lecter and you.”, announced Jack, while starting to stride through the spacious room again. “We’ve already discussed the circumstances and want to move Dr. Lecter to his private home, because we don’t want to put his recovery in danger, when a killer is working in this hospital. The transport – Jack looked down onto his watch – will arrive in approximately 15 minutes.”

Will followed Jack silently, when he left the crime scene to give the forensics – team space to do their work. Perpetuating evidence. Taking fingerprints. Looking for DNA – traces -hair, pieces of skin or saliva.

“Do you want Dr. Lecter to go home alone? In his fragile condition?”, asked Will, staring frowning at Jack’s back. Doubt tinted his voice with a little edge of unsureness, that made Jack froze in motion.

“We will send a police-car to his house for observation and if needed, protection.”, answered Jack, staring down at his watch. Will imitated Jack’s behavior, recognizing that he had lost his watch – probably when fighting with Budge yesterday. Yesterday felt like years ago. He had to call someone to take care of his dogs – at least for a few days.

“He suffers from amnesia, Jack. Do you really believe that Dr. Lecter is able to go home? Alone?” Will frowned, turning his back to Jack, standing frozen in the middle of the corridor.

“It isn’t really wise to let you accompany, Dr. Lecter, but on the other side it is more efficient, to protect you both from the killer’s eventual wrath, this way. It is a difficult decision.”, said Jack, staring down at the watch around his right forearm, signalizing him to make the decision as quick as possible.

“Grab a cup of coffee on the way to the main entrance of the hospital. I don’t want Dr. Lecter, amnesiac or not, to see you this way.”

Jack left the corridor, hurrying to the briefing he had to take part in at 9am. It was certainly no wise decision to let Will, in his own fragile condition, stay with Hannibal but it was the best shot, they had. None of his supervisors would allow the budget for a divided safekeeping of private property.

The last thing Jack heard from Will was the phone call to Alana, asking her to take care of his dogs for a few days. When he passed the door to the ICU, where the doctors were discussing about the murder on their daily round, he was not so sure anymore if he had made the right decision. But doubt was an emotion, he was not allowed to feel in the profession, he was working in. Doubt meant not being in control. Not being in control meant anarchy and anarchy meant sloppiness. He was sure, that he had made the right decision. There was no other efficient way. A hospital, way too dangerous, to move Hannibal and Will to, with the Ripper still running around freely.  He would never lose someone of his employees again.

Not after what had happened to Miriam Lass.

 


	3. The Art of Seduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me long enough to finish this chapter. Summertime is always so exhausting in University. To buy a cooler for your students seems to be totally overrated. Totally overrated, when we have nearly 40 degrees outside in the sun. But nontheless thank you for reviewing and liking my story, guys. Hopefully you like my new chapter and will give me feedback again. I'm sweating and dying, synchronically. It's so bloody hot outside.

The dark silhouettes of trees, ill – lit by the dying light of the day, were passing by, when they drove through Baltimore. Will was not alone with Hannibal in the car – two agents had been commanded to accompany their ride to Hannibal’s private home. The silence in the car was heavy. Heavy with unspoken words and suppressed annoyance. The radio, playing silently in the background, produced a dying sound in the last notes of a song, fresh from the charts.

The mood in the car was not a good one and everybody, except for Hannibal, sleeping soundly, was aware of it. Even the close – minded, not so observant agents could feel it, Will could sense their growing annoyance.  Even they, blind to most things, were able to feel the increasing tension, building within Will, silently staring out of the car.  

Without trying to hide his annoyance for the whole situation, the agent, riding shotgun, turned the radio off. “Fuck if this radio station will play this song one more time. I swear by god, I don’t know what I will do.”

The other agent, behind the steering wheel, staring far too concentrated at the street in front of them, ignored his partner’s try to diffuse the tension. Dark shadows were flickering on the greyish asphalt of the street, when the sun sunk below street-level. Will turned his head, eyeing his sleeping therapist. It did not feel right to observe Hannibal as he did but also, he could not look away. Still wearing the thin hospital gown, Hannibal looked like a sick man on his dying bed. Will had never seen him in a worse condition. He was not sure if Hannibal’s bad physical condition was based on the strong sedative, the doctors had syringed into his thigh or if it was basically the outcome of the amnesia.

Will felt like touching him, brushing the hair strand, that was falling loosely in his eyes, back, but he had not the courage to do so.  Too great the fear that Hannibal could awake from his light slumber, the sedative already losing its soothing effect. The brakes squeaked, when the agent behind the steering - wheel, turned off from the main road. Violently, Hannibal’s head crashed against the cold window glass of the car, leaving a small trace of saliva onto the plastic paneling of the door. Worried Will was observing the humiliating situation, lowering his head in obvious embarrassment.

The agents in the front of the car were discussing loudly about the fastest way to reach their direction, when Hannibal breached consciousness for the first time. Will noticed the slight shift in the breathing rhythm, more arrhythmic and labored now. Long shadows were casted by the streetlights, they were passing by. Bluish light, reflected in the dark – maroon of Hannibal’s irises. Pupils maximally dilatated in the greyish twilight in the car.

“You were in the ambulance with me, talking to the Doctor.”, Hannibal said, voice lowered to keep their conversation concealed from the agents, fighting in the front of the car. Will startled, not prepared for Hannibal’s consciousness.

“I was, yes.”

Will did not know how to reply to Hannibal. What could he say? There was nothing to talk about. Too many possibilities of saying the wrong things or the right things at the wrong time. Hannibal was surveying him with a frown, while Will was actively trying to avoid making eye contact.

“He called you agent.” The low timbre of Hannibal’s voice sore from his weeping in the morning. Will was not sure if Hannibal did even remember the breakdown, he had had this morning. Deep down, he hoped that Hannibal did not remember. The humiliation of it was making even Will blush furiously.

“Yes. But he was not totally right. I’m working as a Special Consulter for the FBI. Means they only call me, when they solve cases, which need my special abilities.”, Will answered the unspoken question. The striking green color of the traffic light reflected in Hannibal’s eyes, when he shortly looked out of the window, surveying the passing houses and trees, lining the streets.

“Special Consulter for the FBI. That sounds pretty impersonal.”, Hannibal said elongated, while drawing lines onto the window glass of the car, already misted up by the steam of their breathing. Wincing, Hannibal stopped drawing lines into the mist, when the car stopped abruptly in front of a stop sign. Unaware about his actions, he touched his split lip. It could have happened so much more than just a split lip, a torn collateral ligament, fixating the patella and bruises, bordering Hannibal’s neck like a necklace, made of ruptured capillaries. 

“Will. Will Graham.”, he said, reaching out with his hand, to shake hands with Hannibal. For the second time in a year. _I don’t find you that interesting._ Oh, how that had changed within the last months. From unwanted therapist to acquaintance and friend even. Someone Will could turn to, when his small boat, symbolizing his sanity, was near crashing against the cliffside, symbol for the increasing pressure his job was putting him under. A small haven, harboring a warmth, that was radiating through every fiber of Hannibal’s house.

“It’s strange to not know your own name. Such simple knowledge simply lost.” Hannibal’s timbre low and even, exactly like in the countless therapy sessions Will had had with him. But now it was used without the intention to extract information from Will, now the circumstances very totally different. Hannibal, not knowing how he pronounced his words, not able to draw connections between his actions and memories, correlating with his doings in the past.

“Hannibal Lecter. Former surgeon. Currently practicing as therapist in Baltimore, also consulting the FBI in psychological matters.”, Will said, voice lowered, folded hands twitching.

“You talk about me, as if we knew each other well. You seem concerned of my well – being, strangely strong even.” The car turned right, leaving the byroad, to follow an even smaller byroad. By now, the sky had turned from the brilliant kaleidoscope of red shades to a sickly grey, announcing the nightfall.

“I was your unofficial patient. Jack Crawford, principal of the behavior analysis unit of the FBI, send me to you to check my psychological aptitude for active duty in the field.”, he said, voice heavy with repressed emotion.

“The term unofficial patient sounds complex. Eclectic even.” Hannibal returned to drawing lines into the mist, fogging the windows. Will, heart aching for all the potential that could have been lost, lost forever, caused by Hannibal’s amnesia, watched silently how a teacup, lines so perfect and exact that it could be nothing else than the finest Chinese porcelain, was drawn on the fogged window glass.

“I remember some things. Shades of different colors, blinding and virulent, shadows, swirling around in my head, smells, irritating, the sensitive mucosal in my nasal cavity and sounds, piercing my ears, mostly. There is nothing peaceful in my head. Just anarchy.” Hannibal turned away from the window, facing Will, only the small space of the middle seat separating them. “Except for this teacup.” Looking lost, Hannibal erased the lines, he had drawn moments ago. Will sighed, totally overwhelmed by the situation – even rubbing over the tinging skin of his neck did not erase the lump, forming in his throat. When he swallowed, his throat clicked audibly. Embarrassed he lowered his gaze, not able to meet Hannibal’s dark eyes, shimmering dangerously in the bluish light of the car.  It was late, too late to deal with Hannibal, in some kind of way, still being himself but not really himself. Complicated indeed.

“The teacup has a symbolic meaning. I told you about in our therapy sessions and you convinced me of its wrongness. Fragility. Brokenness. Insanity. Nothing of that, symbolized by the fragile teacup, was what you saw in me.”, said Will, throat clicking audibly. The internal space of the car suddenly deadly silent, except for their breathing. When had the agents stopped fighting? Will did not know for certain. To intrigued by the conservation, he was having with Hannibal.

Hannibal might have lost his memory but certainly not his razor - sharp mind, considering matters from all sides. Will still felt psychoanalyzed, the rummaging in his head done more direct but still with a certain kind of finesse, not possessed by many people, besides Hannibal. The manipulation behind the words still noticeable, only slightly but nonetheless there.

“So, your make it sound like I saw good in you. Potential to grow. The potential of changing things. Maybe even the potential of friendship?”

Hannibal observed him silently, radiating a certain kind of agitation, Will had never seen him in. Things had changed but not always for the better. The amnesia changed Hannibal’s personality, only slightly but nonetheless it did.

“It was difficult. It always is with you.”, Will said, brutally honest. He turned his head to look out of the window, streetlights passing by. Flickering lights, illuminating the interior space of the car somberly.

“Distance. I see.”, Hannibal answered, voice tinted with disappointment. Will wanted to say something, to apologize, to explain himself, but Hannibal had already turned away from him, head leaning against the door. Soft notes filled the silence in the car, when the agent, riding shotgun turned the volume of the radio louder.

Melancholy washed over the car, fitting perfectly to the uncomfortable atmosphere between Hannibal and him. The ticking, when a pen slid from one side of the car to the other, sounded exactly like a clock. Like the clock in Hannibal Lecter’s office. The man, who did not exist anymore, in this exact moment. Whose memories had been washed away. Washed away by a wave, mighty and unyielding.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The hallway was pitch-black, when the agent passed through the front door, in the intention to secure Hannibal’s private house. His steps echoed through the deserted corridor, even audible for Will, leaning against the handrail, framing the stairway to the front door. Hannibal, again, sleeping in the car, chin leaning on his chest.

Will pulled his jacket tighter around himself, when a wisp of wind let the half - open front door rattle in its hinges. The killer, who had murdered Dr. Mahone was not going to pay them a visit. At least not in this night, of this Will was sure. So, sure that he had been the one to recommend moving Hannibal to his private home instead to another hospital to Jack.

The murder in the hospital had been a onetime thing. The man, responsible for the gruesome fate of Dr. Mahone, was certainly no serial killer. He was not even close to being one of the psychopaths, Will had to deal with day for day of his life. His design, artful and sublime, but the conducting of it rather sloppy, the man would never kill again. Too big the possibility of being caught, too strong the fear of of being incarcerated. After he had taken vengeance on the poor doctor, symbolizing the ultimate enemy, the personification of the modern medicine, he would never kill again. All wrath simply vanished, even the smallest speck, hidden in the depths of his disordered mind.

“The house is clear. Don’t leave the house without informing us. Don’t invite people. Don’t answer the door. […]”

The list of things, they should not do, was growing but Will was not paying attention anymore. This whole thing would develop into a witch-hunt, Jack seeing Ripper victims in every crime, where someone was killed. Every murder, happening in and around Baltimore, seemed to be connected to the Ripper case for Jack – it was basically a witch hunt, aiming at the wrong people. The ripper was nothing more than a ghost, the devil in disguise, fleeting like smoke, ascending from burning coals. There was no way to catch him. At least not in the way Jack worked. The “go like a bull at the gate” – method would not work. Not with the Ripper, perfectly integrated and socialized. Perfectly disguised as normal citizen.

“We will be in front of the house, waiting in the car. If something seems strange to you, activate this pager.”, said the agent, nametag reading Carlson, before he pressed the small pager in Will’s hand. “Don’t forget to lock the door.”, added the other agent, not wearing a nametag, grinning in a disdaining way, when Will turned around to go back to the car. None of the agents payed any attention to them anymore, when Will kneeled in front of the rearward car door. Cautiously he put his hand onto Hannibal’s shoulder, worryingly thin under the paper-thin cloth of the hospital gown. Hannibal woke with a start from his light slumber, blinking furiously and staring disorientated at Will’s face, only inches away in front of his own.

“I didn’t mean to startle you but the agents are becoming pretty impatient. I don’t want to be victim to their short temper.”, Will said, while eying the agents, smoking in the proximity of the front door.

“Thank you for being patient, William.”, Hannibal said, sounding spiritless and tired, while he tried to leave the car himself. The agents had stopped smoking, glaring at them in an annoyed way, nearly annihilating them with the undisguised rage, swirling around in their shadowed irises.

“How did you know that Will is only the short-form of my name?”, Will asked, curious if Hannibal had started remembering or if this use of his full name, he did not like to be called with, had been a sheer coincidence. Hannibal stopped his trying to heave his legs over the threshold of the car door, when Will lowered his hand from his shoulder.

“I guess, it was a lucky guess. My apologies if I caused you distress by using it.” Will blinked, utterly confused about Hannibal’s behavior, that was so similar to before he had lost his memory but also so different from it. In front of the stairway, leading to the front door, the agents were stamping with their feet to fight against the cold mist, ascending from the ground. The two men, looking nearly black in the dark of the upcoming night, would not be patient for long. Will did not want to anger them more than they already were. Carefully he put his arm around Hannibal’s waist, stabilizing him, when he tried to get up. The skin on Hannibal’s naked back, where the hospital gown was not properly fastened with knots, was a color palette of all shades of green and blue – hematoma, blooming like blossoms in the early spring.

“You’re very kind to me.”, said Hannibal, low and somber, when they passed by the two agents, staring agitated back at the car. The warmth was dissolving through the still open car door, leaving in a whoosh of sizzling air. Dejected, the agents lowered their heads, mentally preparing for a cold night. The small smile, playing around the corners of Hannibal’s mouth, let Will abruptly stumble over the edge of a cobblestone. The recognized, in this moment, that he had never seen Hannibal smile fully – it had been always some kind of half – smile. Not a full-blown smile, showing his sharp canines and pink gums. His thins lips, gracefully bowed to indicate his pleasure in the discomfort, the agents had to suffer. Keeping watch over the house, while sitting in the cold car. Turning on the heating, useless consumption of fuel, strictly forbidden by their supervisor. No one could blame Hannibal for his nearly diabolic joy, taken from seeing the agents shake violently in the cold of the night, after the agents had treated him in a rude and disrespectful way.

A strange feeling was coiling in Will’s stomach, when he saw Hannibal smile this openly, obviously enjoying himself. The days, he had so stay with Hannibal, would be either the best or the worst of his life – probably the latter. Tired and exhausted, Will was not able to gain control over his emotions, simmering under the surface of his calm posture.

Guilt, was lying heavy at the bottom of his stomach. Hope for things, he never dared to hope for, was making adrenaline course through his veins and an indefinite feeling was making his fingertips tingle, where he touched the naked skin of Hannibal’s back. The skin, marred by the dark blossoms, was warm and soft under the roughened skin of his fingertips. In the piercing light of the lamp, illuminating the doorway, Will could see the chain of vertebrae, leading from Hannibal’s neck, where one knot of the hospital gown had loosened, to the top of his lumbar region. Blushing, he lowered his gaze, when Hannibal raised his left eyebrow in a questioning way. Small wrinkles, forming in between his fair-colored and curved eyebrows.

“My apologies, Will, but I’m cold and I guess you’re too. So, may we eventually enter the house?”, Hannibal asked, perfectly polite, but nonetheless: voice shaking, thin lips, colored in a lifeless bluish tint and his naked forearms, covered with goosebumps. Human, not untouchable. Not immortal.

“Your home.”, Will added silently, hardly audible, while he helped Hannibal carefully to overstep the doorstep of the front door. The door fell closed behind them, pushed by one of the agents and suddenly Hannibal and Will were alone, alone in the somber hallway, leading to the enormous number of Hannibal’s house.

“Home is a truly strange term when you can’t remember living in the place.”, Hannibal said pensively, touching Will’s hand, where it lay stabilizing on his iliac crest, with his own. Will froze, eyes opened wide, staring down at the space, where Hannibal’s palm touched the back of his own hand. The tingling sensation in his stomach coiled at the bottom of his abdominal cavity like a beast, contently pleased by itself.

“Living on your own can be pretty lonely from time to time.” Will could sense the slight manipulation, Hannibal was using unconsciously, but felt too tired to not respond.

“Try to hold up by yourself, while I’ll turn on the light.” The light of the candelabra flickered a few times, before the hallway was illuminated by flecks of golden light, bathing Hannibal and Will in a golden glow. Will looked back over his shoulder, eying Hannibal, standing steady enough on his bare feet. “Are you living alone Will?”, Hannibal asked, curiosity in his voice, while he examined the spacious hallway, furniture expensive and antique. Will stared at the clock, hanging over a sideboard and a coat rack – it was 11.25pm and he felt more tired, than he had ever felt in his whole life. With bare feet, Hannibal crossed the distance between them, waiting patiently until Will turned around to face him. The shaking of his strong shoulders under the thin material of the hospital gown was more than obvious and Will sighed defeated, he was certainly not the right person to deal with Hannibal’s memory loss. Empathy could replace many things but certainly no degree in medicine or the specification as a neurologist, as Hannibal needed them in a person, accompanying, him now.

“Your whole body is quivering, Hannibal. Let’s go to the kitchen to talk. I can’t stand your sorry sight, freezing, feet bare and barely dressed.” He followed Hannibal, seemingly unsure on his own feet, in direction of the doors at the end of the hallway, leading to the rooms at the ground-floor.

“The last one on the right side.” Hannibal followed the command without reaction, almost automatically and apathetic. The door handle squeaked high – pitched, when Hannibal pressed it down, arm shaking exerted. Somber twilight, falling through the curtains, made shadows dance over the dark marble of the counters. A ray of light, coming from a street light directly diagonal across the street, reflected in the polished steal of quite a few knives, embedded in a wooden knife block. The reflected light let Hannibal’s auburn irises shimmer redly, a hint of predator, simmering behind the fully dilated pupils. Will rubbed his eyes, convinced that he was, in this moment, finally going insane.

“Does my presence make you uncomfortable, Will?”, Hannibal asked curiously, while striding through the kitchen. The ceiling light went on, blinding Will, when Hannibal tried flicking all the switches, beside the fume extractor hood.

“It makes me uncomfortable that this is your home and I feel like an intruder. An unwelcome guest. A plague.”, Will said, actively avoiding making eye contact with Hannibal, who was striding through the kitchen to hide the shaking of his limbs. “I can’t stand seeing you shiver anymore” Will looked around, seeing Hannibal’s dark-red satin – dressing gown, hanging accurately folded over the back of a leather chair. “Pull this one and sit down. I will make you a tea. But don’t expect any fancy cooking skills from me. I was raised with microwave food and heating cans over a nearly antique stove.”, Will responded, timbre low and commanding, when he handed Hannibal the dressing gown, satin soft and smooth under his calloused fingertips.

“You are a very kind man, Will. A smart one, too. I’m curious about something, so may I ask you a question?”, Hannibal asked tentatively, taking the dressing gown, and pulling it on. Will turned his back to Hannibal, searching for teabags in the several cupboards. He was pretty certain that Hannibal would have no normal tea bags like normal people did. Probably he owned a sieve, made of expensive stainless steal, to brew his tea freshly from handpicked herbs but Will had overestimated Hannibal. In the lowest cupboard was a big range of different tea varieties, wearing fancy and foreign names, but it were, nonetheless, normal tea bags. Normal tea bags like normal people used them in their daily business. While the water in the pot was starting to boil, Will turned around to face Hannibal, sitting in the leather armchair.

“You may.”, Will responded lamely, hurryingly turning back to the pot, where the water was lapping over the rim. Mumbling a curse, hopefully not loud enough to be audible for Hannibal, he tried to prevent the catastrophe. When Hannibal would be himself again, he certainly would kill Will for ruining the expensive stove.

“I own this well equipped kitchen, made from stainless steel and perfectly polished black marble but I lived alone. It’s quite a paradox. What kind of man was I? I fear I was the worst, and the worst is that I wouldn’t even know it.”

Will sighed, defeated. What should he tell Hannibal? The truth was that Will did not even know what kind of man Hannibal had been. Polite, well – read, gracious, sometimes a little bit over the top but after all that were the things Hannibal had been in public. Nobody, not even him, knew what Hannibal had been doing in the time, when he was not rendering psychiatric opinions for the forensic psychiatry or playing the gracious host. Hannibal had kept his private life secret. Secret like you would keep a diary, locked by seven locks. An enigma. Not even solvable for Will, having his abilities. Abilities, that haunted him even in his sleep. Sleep, a pure luxury in these days.

“You were a great host.”, Will mumbled, not wanting to give Hannibal a clear answer. “Everybody wanted to be invited to your dinner parties.” Will turned his back to Hannibal, taking the hot teacup cautiously in his hands and handing it to Hannibal. “Be careful the tea is very hot.”

Unsure what to do, Will leaned against the counter, staring out of the window. The darkness in front of the window was pitch-black. No stars visible. Moon, overcast by green – greyish clouds, making the night – sky look like the apocalypse was near. A storm was coming. Air, sizzling with electricity. The same electric spark, Will felt every time, Hannibal looked at him. Gaze, clouded by admiration and even fascination. Hannibal looked not in the way at him like most people did: Not like how someone would look at a broken man, not like most people looked at him, pitying. Hannibal saw the potential to grow, coming after brokenness. Brokenness as a new beginning, a chance to become someone new. The principle of metamorphosis decades old, but still remarkable.

Will rubbed tiredly over his stinging eyes, making yellow stars dance in front of them. His mind was in desperate need of sleep. His thoughts mixed with suppressed feelings, his objectivity obsolete and his hands shaking violently.

Suddenly a loud clattering echoed through the kitchen, making Will flinch uncomfortably. The teacup, Hannibal had been holding in his bruised hands, had fallen to the floor, splintering into thousands of small pieces. Dark liquid was pouring onto the polished marble floor, bright candelabra light mirroring in it.

“No, don’t. You will cut yourself.” Will tried to warn Hannibal, sitting on his knees, and trying to pick up the broken pieces, thin hospital gown soaked with tea. “It is my fault what means that I have to clean up the mess.”, Hannibal responded, totally calm, while collecting the broken pieces of the tea cup, probably made of finest Chinese porcelain.

“Just let me clean up and […]”, Will stopped deadly silent, when he saw the small threat of blood, seeping steadily from the small cut in Hannibal’s index finger. “You already cut yourself.”, he deadpanned, approaching Hannibal slowly to avoid startling him. Careful, to avoid kneeling in between the white splinters, now covered in already congealing blood, he lowered himself beside Hannibal. The cut did not look very deep, not even the tissue of the Cutis, had been perforated but blood was oozing steadily on the blank floor, mixing with the tea. An unique smell, Will had smelled once before, filled the kitchen – a unique metallic tang, mixed with the spiciness of different herbs and a slight undertone of ripe grapes. He remembered a light, penetrating his eyes, then falling into a convulsion, so violent making even his bones and the joints, connecting them, rattle. A hallucination? Further detachment from reality? Had he ever had an acute convulsion in Dr. Lecter’s kitchen?  He was not sure. Paranoia was starting to bubble up.

“You’re not disgusted by blood. You’re used to seeing it, am I right?”, Hannibal asked, seeming disinterested, while painting lines in the puddle of tea, already mixing with the blood, coppery smell, making his nostrils flare.

“I guess you already knew that after I told you which people I’m working for.” The red of the blood, dripping monotonous on the marble floor, reflected in Hannibal’s brown eyes. Red lines swirling like meanders into the rich shade of hazel. Irises, blow wide, despite the bright light in the kitchen.

“You say the FBI wants to work with you as consulter because of your ability. But you let “ability”, nonetheless if you can help people with it, sound like a trait, you want most likely to get rid of.”

Will collected the pieces, trying hard to avoid meeting Hannibal’s eyes for longer than necessary to not seem unpolite. The blood, dissolving into the tea, made his hands slippery and he had to be careful to avoid cutting himself, too, but the cleaning made him feel grounded again. Made him find the save haven, he had missed the last days, again. The stillness right before the storm would break through. It was silent in his head, the demons, lurking in the dark corners of his highly-damaged psyche, finally as still as if they would have never been there. There was nothing but white noise.

“It is as much a plague as it is a blessing.”, he responded, meeting Hannibal’s eyes for a short period. Hannibal was turning around the bottom of the teacup, mostly intact and only slightly splintered, in his hands, eyeing the cracks, marring the fine porcelain, closely.

“Not all broken things are designed to be thrown away. It is the same with tea cups as it is with humans.” Hannibal laid his hand, still holding the intact bottom of the tea cup in it, onto Will’s shoulder, pressing the cold porcelain against the well-worn material of his flannel shirt. “Sometimes brokenness means uniqueness.”, Hannibal added, making Will shy away, when the cold porcelain touched the naked skin of his neck, still irritated by the unforgiving violin string, Tobias Budge had tried to strangle him with. Probably, exactly the same, he used on Hannibal.

“You’re not fond of people touching you. Not used to it or disgusted by it?” Will had lowered his eyes, when Hannibal had touched his shoulder only through the thin layer of his flannel-shirt and undershirt. He was afraid of meeting Hannibal’s eyes, probably glimmering with amusement. Hannibal was playing a game with him, a game, which rules Will would never understand. A game as old as mankind, a distorted way of binding people by manipulating them to lose touch with reality. He had never felt weaker. More psychoanalyzed. Aggression, correlating to a high level of testosterone, started to coil at the bottom of his abdominal cave. Aggressively, he tried to lean away from Hannibal’s hand, still holding the bottom of the tea cup, sharp edges grazing Will’s neck, near his Carotid artery.

“Your bedroom is one the upper floor. The doctor […)”, before he had been killed, Will thought but did not say loudly, “recommended as much sleep as possible.”

Hannibal moved his hand, where it was lying on Will’s shoulder, rumbling the flannel in doing so and brought his fingertips in near proximity to the Carotid artery, pumping blood in a fast rhythm. The current was swirling, when the blood passed the Bifurcation of the Carotid, which made the thin skin over the even thinner walls of the artery contract arrhythmically. Hannibal needed no medical knowledge to sense Will’s nervousness. The scent of it even more obvious than the arrhythmic blood flow to his brain.

“You did not answer my question. You changed the topic, in a pretty smooth way even, but nonetheless you changed it.”, Hannibal said, while fiddling with the broken tea cup, making the sharp edges of it brush against Will’s vulnerable neck, repeatedly. The thin hairs, covering the skin over his veins, leading to the head, erupted every time Hannibal touched a highly – sensitive spot, especially when he got near the bruising, lying around his neck like a collar, people used to go out with their dogs. The amusement coming from Hannibal, playing with him without even considering what was socially acceptable behavior and what was not, was insufferable. Insufferable because it was not Hannibal, not the man, he had grown fond of as friend, who was teasing him in this way. It was a dystrophy; the world having turned upside-down.

When Hannibal touched a spot behind his mastoid, skin extremely thin over sensitive nerve-ends, Will’s patience broke and he robbed back. Splinters, burrowing within the material of his jeans. The bottom of the tea cup fell in direction of the floor, when the world seemed to slow down, every movement of the teacup visible, before it hit the bottom and splintered, covering them in a cloud of small white fragments. The bright red blood, covering the floor was a fine contrast to the pure white – beauty in destruction. Beauty in pain. Humans sense for the aesthetics of the world had ever been a strange one.

“So, not used to it, indeed. Thank you for your time, Will.”

Hannibal got up from the floor, he had been kneeling on, stretching his limbs, joints cracking. He seemed unsteady on his legs but nonetheless mentally clearer and more stable than he had been in the hospital.

“I guess, you want to sleep in the guest room. By yourself.  Old habits die hard, they say and right they are.”, Hannibal said, voice lowered and words tempting like poison, spilling from his lips, while he knotted the belt of his satin robe.

“Sleep well, dear Will.” Hannibal turned his back to Will, limping in the direction of the hallway, dark amusement coming from him in waves. Frozen, Will watched how Hannibal’s silhouette vanished in the darkness of the hallway. Totally concealed by the darkness, hiding everything, that dared to pass through it. Moments later: Loud, labored steps, the unconcealed slouching of a limb, before there was nothing but silence anymore. The creaking of the stairway stopped moments later, letting Will sit in total silence, staring at the place Hannibal had been kneeling the whole time.

The silence gave him this certain kind of deafness, making oneself feel uneasy and watched. Paranoia. Dissociation. Loss of time and place. He was losing his mind. Madness was making itself a home in the depths of his brain, warm and cozy between the parts of his brain, functionating rightly.

“My name is Will Graham. I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. It is very late, probably not long until dawn and my therapist, not remembering anything, tried to tempt me to join him in his bed.”

Forcefully, he let the back of his head collide with the forefront of a counter, making his stinging headache even worse, while he listened to the creaking of the floorboards above him. The storm, forming under the clouded night – sky, howled around the edges of Hannibal’s house, making him feel like a prisoner in a sanatorium, where madness was howling its gruesome stories.

“I nearly gave in to the temptation.”, he said silently, only audible for the old floorboards, expensive kitchen furniture and the picture, showing the battle of Cartago in a dramatic way, oil paint nearly radiating real blood and violence.

_I nearly gave in to the temptation._

_I’m not able to withstand the temptation any longer._

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_My name is Will Graham. I’m in Dr. Lecter’s guestroom, trying to sleep and it is nearly 4am. The howling, I don’t know of if it is real, is starting again and I guess I have finally lost my mind._

The guestroom was dark, curtains closed and streetlights on the other side of the street shut off. Will laid awake, listening to his own breathing, feeling the way his rib cage expanded and retracted. It was cold in the room, heater off and blanket thin, goosebumps on his bare arms and legs. He was shaking but not because of the cold, making his breath form little puffs. There was something coming for him. Something evil and archaic, made in the time mankind had been made. Something the stag, staking through the deep water of the crystal-clear river, had tried to warn him of. The “unnamable something” was nearly there, close enough that Will could hear its labored breathing. A silent, wheezing noise, sounding like a fish, that had been taken from the water and was now desperately gasping for oxygenized water.  

Madness was seeping through the cracks in his skull, reality blurring with dissociation. The howling got louder, now nearly sounding like a weeping child. A shrilling sound, increasing in volume and frequency. There was no way to make the howling, haunting him even in his dreams, stop – it was permanent and had no physical explanation. Nearly like tinnitus but far worse in its increasing power. In its power to make him doubt reality.

_Something is coming for me. The beast is coming._

He opened his eyes, startled, when a branch of the tree, standing near the fence between Hannibal’s property and the neighbors’, hit the window-glass of the door, leading outside on a small balcony.

_The beast will eat me whole. It’ll devour me. There is no rescue. The only way out is to be consumed._

His eyes burned, when he rubbed with his hands, clenched to fists, over his heavy eyelids. He had had the strange dream again. The very one about the beast. About the beast, that the stag, that was too a product of his fantasy, had tried to warn him of – the beast, that consumed everything, that dared to come into its cosmos.

The howling, haunting and lonesome, sounding nearly like a hurt animal, which was crying for company, changed – now a muffled weeping. He looked in direction of the window, greyish daylight falling through the crack in between the curtains, while he was listening to the grieving beast. Silence followed a high-pitched whining, echoing through the deserted hallways, filled with furniture, which had seen many households. Furniture with a past, with stories to tell through its small cuts and scrapes. A past, Hannibal did not remember, maybe would never remember again. The door, leading to the hallway, was a crack open, Will not used to sleeping in closed rooms – it made him feel trapped. Claustrophobic even.

_“Mischa.”_

Confused, blinked Will and sat up against the headboard of the bed, made of dark Mahogany. He knew this name, had heard it two times: once in therapy, the second time when Hannibal had suffered from nightmares in the hospital. Will did not know much about Hannibal’s family, it had never been part of their conservations but some facts had nonetheless slipped through the veil, Dr. Lecter kept around his private life.

_“Were did you go?”_

Mischa had been Hannibal’s younger sister, a few years younger and very dear to him, parents always occupied with business, wealthy and influential in Eastern Europe, there had been no one to keep her safe. To teach her about life. A life, Will, born in America, democratic and mostly peaceful, could not even think of. The political situation in the Baltic States at the time, Misha and Hannibal had been children, more than _precarious_ with the Soviets, trying to regain their power of the uprising countries. Socialism draining the countries harvests, not even enough to nurse the own people, and exploiting the resources: metal, chemicals, and wood.

_“You’re gone.”_

Will did not pay much attention to history class in middle-school, his mind occupied with his personal problems. Problems all youngsters had to go through if they wanted to enter the world of the adults, a world of money and superficiality. But he had payed enough attention to know that soon after the exploiting of the resources had begun, the country had suffered from the effects of a great famine. People uprising, against the autocratic oligarchy, reign them. Partisans, fighting in the woods. Many people died. Many innocent people had been tortured, raped, and slaughtered like pigs. There had been no mercy, not even for Mischa – Hannibal’s dear sister.

_“You’re dead.”_

She was dead and the boy, who had once been her brother, was, too.

Will got out of the soft bed, pulled his simple grey tee, he had get rid of to sleep, on and padded in direction of the door, a small ray of light, falling through the crack. Pupils blown wide, he passed through the slightly ajar door. The light in the hallway was dimmed, shadows flickering over the paneled walls. The floorboards, cold and slippery, under the bare soles of his feet, when he followed the silent weeping, coming from the room, Will assumed, to be Hannibal’s master bedroom. In front of the slightly ajar door, he stopped, Hannibal’s wailing was muffled, the things, that were said in his soliloquy incoherent and irrational. Will sighed and rubbed nervously over his naked neck, curls sweaty at the back of his head. Hesitancy let him freeze, when the wailing stopped for a moment. Deserted hallway silent as a grave would be. Atmosphere, too, not very different to the one in a crypt. Air, smelling moldy, filled with decay.

_“You left me alone. Don’t.”_

Will pushed the heavy door to Hannibal’s bedroom open, stopped standing under the threshold and was not brave enough to enter the room. So there was nothing he did but standing under the threshold, casting a shadow on him and waiting for Hannibal’s unconscious wailing to stop. The nightmare had taken a hold over Hannibal. It did not feel right to see Hannibal this weak. This vulnerable. On tiptoes, he passed the distance to Hannibal’s bed, passing by an ancient Samurai armor, reflecting the greyish morning light, that was falling through the half – closed blinds. History, based on the past. Old things, that were reflecting the times that once had been, that would never be again. Forgetting and remembering, always two sides of a medal. Two sides of a medal, that quickly could become one-sided.

“It’s me, Hannibal. Will. You’re having a nightmare, wake up.”, he said, voice roughened from sleep, while he carefully touched Hannibal’s naked shoulder. Bones sharp under the thin skin, muddled with dark bruises and superficial cuts.  Hannibal did not wake up from his nightmare, not even when Will shook him violently. Head lolling from one side to the other, Hannibal was still stammering incoherent things. Scraps of foreign words, spilling from his bitten lips. A small threat of blood was running over Hannibal’s chin, shadowed by light stubble.

The words sounded foreign. Vocals, pronounced to sharp to be American. Consonants, not divided by vocals. “Tsk” noises dominating the pronunciation of the words. No commas, dots and exclamation marks audible. Sentence structure not more than an irregular chaos.

Will sat down on the edge of the bed, bare feet buried in the rug, and waited for Hannibal to wake up. The skin of Hannibal’s shoulder was clammy, where Will touched him carefully with shaking hands.

“Hannibal, wake up.”, Will tried again, Hannibal reacting by mumbling words in a foreign language. Pronunciation, again, harsh, and heavy, pauses long.

“Where am I?”, Hannibal asked, voice still rough from sleep, while rubbing his eyes, red – rimmed. Disorientated, he looked around, eyes scanning the walls and furniture, shadowed by twilight. A small smile was playing around his thin lips, when Hannibal noticed Will’s hand on his naked shoulder, fingernails leaving red half-moons into the fair skin. “I see.”, he said, leaving Will in the dark, what this two words, spoken cryptically, should mean.

“You’re in your bedroom, back home in Baltimore.”, Will responded, voice unnaturally loud in the silence of the room, which was only interrupted by their breathing. Hannibal stayed still, giving no sign of wanting to respond, while he studied Will with shadowed maroon eyes. The sizzling, the small spark of electricity, was there again. Will was certain that Hannibal could feel it, too but, none of them dared to react to it. There was no reckless bravery. Reckless bravery was something that would come with high – costs. He could not. He was not allowed. It would be against every existing ethic to use Hannibal’s vulnerable state to get things from him, Will had never known of, that he wanted them.

“I’m not alone.”

Hannibal studied him, eyes glimmering with unspoken curiosity and touched Will’s hand, where it still lay on the top of his naked shoulder.

“No, obviously not.”, Will agreed, not able to concentrate on anything else than the spaces of skin, thin over his finger-bones, where Hannibal’s fingertips touched the back of his hand. His skin was prickling, goosebumps visible on his naked forearms.

“The question isn’t any longer if I’m alone but why I’m not. Why are you here?”, asked Hannibal, voice low and smooth, sounding sweet and dripping like honey. The manipulation was obvious but Will felt trapped like a fly in a spider web. There was no escape. No change to run away from this conversation, they were prisoners of the agents, which were keeping an eye on the front door and the small path, leading to the patio in the back of the house.

“You had a nightmare.”, Will said, but did not think. _I’m here because you lured me to be here. Concussions don’t agree with your politeness and subtleness, Hannibal._

He shivered, when he felt Hannibal’s calloused fingertips drawing circles on the back of his hand, while he was studying Will with a nearly wolfish grin. Here, where Hannibal’s whole power lay, Will was powerless. Too weak to withdraw from Hannibal’s subtle manipulation. Too long without human touch to withdraw from the simple comfort, a hand caressing his own, could bring.

“I’m not having it anymore, so: Why are you still here?”, Hannibal asked him, curiosity making his low timbre sound a little more high – pitched than it sounded normally.

“You seemed disorientated and I was worried that the concussion, that is causing your memory loss, was not the only brain damaged that was caused by Tobias Budge, when he hit the back of your head against your office desk.”, Will said, resolved emotional tension coiling at the bottom of his stomach. Strange feelings, welling up in his mind, made his throat feel raw and constricted.

“That’s the clinical explanation. The rational one but I want to hear about the emotional one why you came her to ease my nightly pain.”, Hannibal responded, sharp teeth glimmering white in the twilight of the beginning day. _It is morning, I don’t know which time it is but my therapist is, again, trying to seduce me._

“Sickness makes even you rude, Hannibal.”, Will responded, anger about himself, his own naivety to be manipulated again, coiling at the bottom of his stomach. When he tried to get up from the edge of the bed, satin sheets soft smooth under his hands, Hannibal’s hand on his naked knee stopped him. “Wait. I have to apologize for my bluntness.”, Hannibal requested, while patting a rhythmic melody on the top of Will’s naked knee, bones sharp under the marred skin of his knee caps. “Please stay with me.”, he added, taking his hand from Will’s knee. “I appreciate your company.”

“No harm done.” Hannibal bowed his head in gratitude, folding his hands patiently in his lap, while on the outside of the room, the first birds were beginning to chipper. The comforter had slipped a little to the side, revealing Hannibal’s naked calves, strong and littered by fair hairs.

“May I touch you, Will?, he asked, tempting Will to give in to the seduction, that had begun with the unexpected breakfast, he had brought him, on an early and frosty winter morning. Will froze, not able to react appropriately – head filled with situations, evolving from this very moment.

“People’s pupils dilatate, when they’re about to say yes. The central nervous process of agreement, is connected to the parts of the brain, operating your pupillary reflex. So, may I?”

Will, puppeteered by Hannibal’s lure, which had been created after their fast meeting in the office room of the FBI, nodded in agreement. He did not need to think about agreeing, he simply did. Intuitively. Hannibal turned Will’s hand around, palm now showing to the ceiling. The skin calloused and marred by old scars, already faded but still tender. On his fingertips swirling lines, slightly sunken in, were forming the unique pattern, that identified Will as Will. Fingerprint as unique as his mindset were.

 “I never took you for the type to believe in palmistry.”, Will said, frowning, when Hannibal’s fingertips grazed the lines, separating his thumb from the rest of his palm. Working in the active police force, handling a weapon and nightstick nearly every night, had made his palms calloused and scarred. Fascinated, he stared down at Hannibal’s hands, practically flawless except for a few cuts and burns, scar tissue already faded to white.

“Interesting. For which type did you take me, then?”

Will’s skin was tingling in the places, where Hannibal’s fingertips brushed the still tender blisters, he had suffered when firing his gun at Hobbs. Ten shots and only the last had hit him at the right place, to sentence him to a slow, but certainly not agonizing, death.

“Not the type for palmistry I guess. More for the believer in science and technology.”

Hannibal laughed at Will’s statement, sharp canines showing in the light of the beginning day. Will felt reminded of the beast in his dreams but Hannibal was not the beast. The beast was coming but it was not Hannibal. Hannibal had never been something else to Will than a friend. The sudden change of the dynamics between them confused Will, made him itchy with not knowing what would come next. Seduction in every word, Hannibal said, sticky and viscous as honey.

 “I certainly wouldn’t be the one to know if I believed in so unscientific things but I feel amusement when thinking about the people, who believe in it. It feels like I despised them but it’s only a feeling, unstable and not clear. Swirling in the dark nothingness, that represents my past in my mind.”, explained Hannibal, drawing lines on the tender skin of Will’s palm. 

The old – fashioned clock, standing on the nightstand, was ticking in a monotonous rhythm, Will felt reminded of therapy in Hannibal’s office. Drawing clocks session for session. No signs of dementia but nonetheless temporary memory loss without explanation. He missed Hannibal’s calm posture, when he was being therapist or psychiatric surveyor.

“You never despised anyone, at least not in the public. Always perfectly polite and indifferent.”, Will murmured, eyes lowered and lips pressed tightly together. Words echoing through his buzzing head.  

“But I was not indifferent, when I was in your company.”, confessed Hannibal, gaze clouded and voice full of suppressed emotions. Low timbre sounding for the first time in an eternity weak again. “It would be a shame if I were.”

The wrinkles, that were forming in Will’s outstretched palms, promised him a short life and lots of suffering, if Hannibal had done the palmistry correctly, but he did not say any of these. He stayed still. It had not felt smart to do so. Not fitting for the purpose the whole game, he was playing with Will, should have. Troubled was one of the terms, that had come to his head, when he had seen Will for the first time after he had become amnesiac. Troubled minds were dangerous places. Will’s mind so twisted that even Hannibal, curios as he was, did not dare to enter any further, than he already had.

When Hannibal followed the life line, promising a short life, ending in endless pain, he brushed accidentally against the inner side of Will’s thigh, which made him flinch and lean away. Interesting.

“You only searched for an opportunity to touch me. Not really smooth, Hannibal.”, Will snapped at him, anger low and vibrating behind the taunting words. Hannibal felt patronized, a feeling he had certainly not felt since he had been a child. He was sure of that even if he could not remember his childhood, not even the slightest detail. There was the smell of burnt flesh, blinding specks of sunlight and the ever-dominant feeling of hunger, that was making his empty stomach growl. He could not remember but he was sure that there were more than enough things, he did not want to remember. The laughter of children, easy and free, silenced after some time in his dreams, was always changing to screaming and shrill squeaking, tormenting his ears. 

“My request is what you want it to be. It’s your decision to make, not mine.”, Hannibal said, as cryptic as ever, rubbing soothing circles in the palm of Will’s hand.

“You’re not in your right mind, Hannibal. Lay down to sleep.” Will looked at the watch, minute hand pointing at the six, written in Romanic numbers. “It’s time for your pain killers and antibiotics. Wait here, I will get them for you.”

Will knew that he was running away. Running away from the dynamic, that was building between Hannibal and him. Their relationship was not platonic anymore. At least not to Hannibal, who was not himself at the moment. Maybe would never be himself again. The bed squeaked, when Will got up and left the room without turning back to Hannibal. Dark eyes were fixated at his back and he could feel the displeasure about his hurried departure, coming from Hannibal in waves.

He was sure, that if he would have turned around to face Hannibal, naked skin shadowed by the twilight of the beginning day, eyes glimmering dangerously and hair tousled from sleep, that he would not leave this room. That he would do something stupid. Something, he would certainly regret.

“Thank you, Will.”

The door closed soundly, leaving Will alone with his thoughts and reactions to Hannibal’s actions on the dark hallway, automatic dimmed lights long gone out. Sighing, he returned to the guestroom, he had tried to sleep in. Greyish light was seeping through the crack in between the curtains, making shadows dance over the old floorboards, polished and shining.

His smartphone laid on the top of the nightstand, he had also put his glasses and watch on. While rubbing the bridge of his nose furiously, he sat down on the edge of the bed, feet cold and hands shaking. He needed to call Alana. He needed someone to talk to. About the condition, Hannibal was in. About the strange things, his unofficial therapist had done, had tried to do, and had said. About everything and nothing.

He exhaled audible, when the screen turned translucent after he had pressed the power button. The battery was low but charged enough to allow him calling Alana to ask her for advice. After a few hoots, Alana answered the phone, sounding tired and sleepy.  

“It’s me, Will. Sorry for disturbing you this early”, he said, voice lowered to avoid startling Alana or making the situation more uncomfortable than it already was. It was 6am in the morning, a time at which the most people still slept. A time, where you certainly did not call other people to disturb their sleep. A sleep, never or randomly plagued by nightmares. So different from his own unhealthy sleeping pattern.

“Will.”, she started, sounding alert. “Is everything ok? I heard about the Budge case. About Hannibal. How is he? How are you, by god?”

Too many questions to answer for Will. Too many different thoughts, mingling with each other. The pressing feeling of overextension.

 “I’m fine, I guess, but you cannot say the same about Hannibal.” Will heard the stop in Alana’s breathing rhythm and felt immediately guilty for having begun the conservation like this. The connection was weak, crumbling in the line was making it difficult to hear any background noises.

“I don’t know much. Jack didn’t want to tell me with the killer of the doctor still loose. He believes that everybody of us in danger. For him, it is still a Chesapeake Ripper case, even if you had declined this possibility.” Alana stopped, line cackling, when she put the phone down and staked through the room, Will presumed to be her bedroom. “What is wrong with Hannibal?”, she asked, leaving it open to Will to tell her everything he knew. She sounded worried, words coming out of her mouth high-pitched and hollow.

“His body is healing, broken bones mending and bruises fading but mentally he is losing touch with reality.” Will heard the small pause in Alana’s rhythmical breathing. Air, leaving her lungs with a sharp sizzling afterwards. 

“What has he done?”, Alana asked, voice full of clinical indifference. Will was certain that he was not talking to Alana as his friend anymore, her inner therapist had kicked in. Her professionality was fighting with her personal involvement with Will, as well as with Hannibal, who had been her mentor when she had been a newbie in the profession.

“He touched me.” Will could not bring it over himself to tell her in which Hannibal had tried to touch him. Which purpose the touches probably should have served. The attempt of seduction more than obvious.

“He is desperately searching for comfort. For someone, who can ground him. Someone, who can fill him in about his past. “, Alana said, sounding even through the sizzling line calm and self-controlled.

“Before he became amnesiac, he would have never touched me in this way. It was strange to see him like this. So different from before. So unbound to social boundaries.”, Will explained, while he turned his head to the ceiling, where loud footsteps were making the antique floorboards crunch.

“Did you give him the permission to touch you?” Will needed a few seconds to think about Alana’s question, while on the upper floor, Hannibal was wandering around in his bedroom. He continued breathing, after he had held his breath for mere seconds, when the crunching of the floorboards stopped. House silent as before. Hannibal, probably, gone to bed again.

“I take that as a yes, Will.”, Alana surmised, while she was audibly striding around, smartphone – signal changing between clear and distorted. “Do you know the processes in the brain, that are connected to memory and the different kinds of memories, we can store in our brain?”

All that Will could remember from his degree in criminalistic psychology were the five different mechanisms of storing information. Five different brain parts for five different types of memories. The human brain so highly developed throughout the evolution, that it had divided its memory in subtypes to prevent full amnesia, which would have been lethal for the individual back in the Mesolithic age.

“Some basic traits of the personality are not connected to our memory system in the brain. A polite person, as example, will never become rude, unless you destroy his or her prefrontal cortex, responsible for ethic reasoning and personality. Hannibal is maybe not exactly like he had been before but he is nonetheless the same as before. At least in his behavior and his feelings. Especially his amicable feelings for you.”

Will sighed, Alana was as always right. Maybe he had been overreacting. The crunching of the floorboards, one floor above him, had stopped, Hannibal probably sleeping again. This time hopefully unplagued by nightmares.

“He tried to psychoanalyze me.”, Will mumbled, feeling ashamed to talk about Hannibal’s condition to Alana without his agreement to do so. Rain pattered onto the rooftop, echoing through the hallways. The sound of the falling rain, pouring down and making all things outside the house blur, felt soothing. There was something serene to the sound of pouring rain. A serenade, easing his feeling of imprisonment. Imprisonment in his own mind.

“I gave him the advice to stop his sessions with you. He is too emotionally involved to decide what’s good for your treatment, Will. His feelings way to amicable to be really objective.”, Alana admitted, bed squeaking when she sat down on it again. “I recommended him to stop visiting Abigail for unofficial therapy – sessions, too.”, she added, her aversion for unethical methods clearly audible.

“Isn’t it the same with you and me? Professional curiosity turned into amicable feelings?”, he asked, curious about Alana’s answer. Curious about Alana’s strategy to avoid the personal discussion, that had to follow on his suggestive question.

“I’m not your therapist. Nor personally involved with you.” Alana sounded defeated. The rain, pouring down from the grey sky, clouds hanging low, made it difficult to understand her.

“That sounds pretty avoiding. Even for you.”, Will said, sad smile playing around his lips. His smartphone beeped piercingly, pointing out that his battery was very low. The steps of the stairway, leading to the first floor, were creaking but Will did not spare another thought on it. Probably it had been the wind, howling around the edges of Hannibal’s home. The storm, that had been augured, was there but the beast – the almighty creature, born in his fantasy – was not.

“Your dogs need to be let out.”, Alana said, smoothly changing the topic to more superficial issues. Will heard how she laid the phone down, clothes rustling, when she dressed for the day. He stared down at himself, still wearing nothing but his grey boxer – briefs and ratty T-Shirt.

“You slept at my house?”, Will asked, pretty sure that he would not get an answer but also that Alana had slept at his home. It was much too early to drive nearly 60 miles to his house to let his dogs out.

“Goodbye, Will. Stay save and keep an eye on Hannibal, like he did for you and Abigail.”

Alana ended the call, electronical voice telling Will that the number, he had called, had disconnected from the network. She had shut her phone off. Again, he was all alone. All alone to deal with Hannibal, his own problems, and the guilt, that felt like a constriction of his throat. Guilt about not having spared a second thought on Abigail. Her wellbeing. Her right to know about what had happened to Hannibal.

Eyes downcast, he trotted over the floor in direction of the kitchen. Coffee had always been his lifesaver and would it be in this morning, too. The droning sound of the rain, hitting the roof of the roof, sounded louder on the hallway – nearly like drums, pounding in a soothing and foreign melody. Archaic feelings welling up inside of Will. The first time in an eternity, he felt connected to mankind. He felt like one of them. He felt normal.

When he passed the threshold of the door, he stopped, nearly tumbling over a small brink between the marble tiles. The smell of freshly brewed coffee made his nostrils flare, aroma of sizzling butter, making his stomach growl. 

“Good morning, Will. I wanted to apologize for earlier. I thought you’d like some breakfast and coffee? Black, one sugar? I presume.”, Hannibal asked, leaning against one counter, sipping at a cup of steaming coffee.

Will smiled, unsure of what to do instead. Smile, crooked.“Yes, please.”, he said, knowing that this was not the only temptation he would give in today. 


	4. The Seven Deadly Sins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm back. I've to excuse me because I didn't update earlier but I have two upcoming exams in medical school next week and I need to pass them to reach my first part of my medical approbation. I did not read my fourth chapter a second time to correct grammar mistakes or spelling mistakes. I hope you like the new chapter. Feedback is as always appreciated. I want to become better and you cannot do that without readers, telling you their opinion about your work. So feel free to comment anything that comes to your mind about my story. I go to bed now, it has gotten too late anyway. Thank you for the kudos and reading my creative oubursts by the way.

“You talked to someone on the telephone.”, stated Hannibal, sipping at his second cup of strong coffee. It was still strange to see him do his daily routine so normally. Nearly like normal people would have prepared their breakfast. No fancy cooking. No French Press for his coffee. Plain, white cups for the coffee – but probably still more expensive than two of Will’s monthly salaries.

“Yes, I did.” Will sounded still tired even after two cups of strong coffee and a good breakfast. He felt sick. Not the real kind of sick you felt when you were coming down with a cold but rather exhausted as if his energy had left his body, leaving him back with just the broken shell of his aging body. He was in his mid – thirties. Statistically he had still three decades to live until the risk of developing cancer or suffering a heart attack got over fifty percent but he simply did not feel like it. His ribcage was constraining his heart, aching strangely whenever he thought about the last days. About Hannibal. About his memory loss and the things, that could have been, concealed by the dark of the night.

“A woman you’re very close to.”, Hannibal noted, absently staring out of the window, light rain drumming onto the windowsill.

“Alana Bloom.”, Will said, voice still rough from tiredness and nausea, currently welling up in his stomach. Hannibal’s assessment had not been a real question, voice not high pitched at the end to signalize the question mark but nonetheless he had wanted information. They were back to subtle manipulation that was not so subtle to Will anymore since he had spent nearly three full days in Hannibal’s presence.

“I’ve never heard this name before. Were we intimately acquainted?”, Hannibal asked, while he was tapping his fingertips on the tabletop, creating a drowsing rhythm. Will stared down on the bottom of his empty cup, where little crumps of coffee had settled down. He never had been the type for esotericism but in this moment, he was sure that the coffee crumps were symbolizing a bad fortune. Maybe not for today but nonetheless for the future, that was coming. A future, where the beast would be coming for him. A future, where he would be out of his own mind.

“Yes, she was your mentee and you met in private, too, but I’m not sure but didn’t I tell you something about Alana in our conversation yesterday?” Didn’t I tell you all of this on our ride to your house?” Will frowned, rubbing the bridge of his nose to ground himself. Concern was making him nauseous. His stomach felt uneasy, cramps making his guts clench and rumble. Will missed his glasses to shield his eyes from Hannibal, who was eying him closely, still tapping his fingertips on the tabletop. 

 “You’re worried.”, assumed Hannibal, surveying Will with slight astonishment, coming from him in violent waves.

“Does that wonder you so much, Hannibal?”, Will asked, tired of Hannibal’s change of topics, whenever they got to topics that would go more under the surface of the obvious than Hannibal wanted them obviously to go.  Worried, Will eyed Hannibal, when he stood up and began clearing the table. He was still not very stable on his feet. Dark bruises a stark contrast against the sickly pale color of his exposed throat. Clavicle visible under the satin of his dressing gown, where the collar did not fit properly.

“It seems there are things I’m not used to, too. Maybe it is on us to change some things. To leave our small comfort zone.”

Hannibal stopped putting the cups and plates in the sink and turned to Will, who was staring in direction of the door, that was swaying in a slight wisp of wind, howling through the dark corridors of the house. The darkness overtook them and there was nothing Will could do to protect the people, near to him, from the things that were coming. The things, that were lurking in the dark corners of mankind’s minds. That dark corners, that could cost an innocent man his life. Or an ambivalent one his memory. Hannibal was neither saint, nor sinner but sometimes he had something about him. Something dark and ancient. An atmosphere of power. The vibrating energy of an ancient god. A vengeful god.

“Maybe you should overcome your pride as beginning of change.”

The sound of Hannibal’s amused snorting echoed through the silent kitchen, where in the background was nothing except for the rain still pouring down onto the window sill, creating a melodic and drumming rhythm, audible.

“Pride. The first of the cardinal sins.”, noted Hannibal, while steam erupted from the water, he had filled in the sink. “Dante Alighieri assigned the cardinal sins with a certain circle in his depiction of hell in “The Divine Comedy”.”

The drumming got louder and was now filling the whole house with a droning as if you were standing in front of bass-reflex loudspeaker. Will sighed, already done with Hannibal’s cryptic sayings for the day. Was there even one topic to which Hannibal could not give a cryptic anecdote? Obviously not.

“Since when is breakfast a convenient time to dive into college knowledge for passing a dramaturgy – class?”, Will asked, hands folded in his lap. Amusement was coming from Hannibal, who was leaning against the counter with crossed legs, red satin dressing gown a stark contrast to the dark marble countertop.

“Praying only saved the one’s in the outer circles of hell from infinite damnation.”, Hannibal stated, eyes glimmering dangerously in the ill – light kitchen. Branches were scouring against the windows, when the storm, that was howling around the house, was increasing in its intensity.

“Then enlighten me, Hannibal, which people had to suffer in the outer circles of hell.”, Will responded sardonically. “I’m not the one well – read in Italian literature, written in the Classical Age.” He stood up, chair legs scraping over the polished marble floor and joined Hannibal at the sink to dry up the dishes. Silently, they worked, standing very near together. Their shoulders brushed, whenever Hannibal had to hand Will the dishes, which made Will shiver despite the warmth in the kitchen. Goosebumps covered his bare arms and his bare neck, where the bruises were slowly fading. Someday they would be gone and maybe he would be alright again. Maybe. At least physically. Mentally he had lost this fight for sanity and health a long time ago. It felt like ages ago. An eternity ago, when he had been normal. Normal like common people were. Maybe he had been normal as baby but not long after that. He had always been the loner, the one child that the other children had called a freak. Nothing had changed except for his perception of the world. Most people were not so normal like they wanted others to believe, they were simply better at hiding their flaws. Their irrationality. Their aggression. Their internal darkness.  

“In the first circle of hell are the philosophers of the Ancient Rome. And the “Seven savages of Greece.”, Hannibal told him, voice smooth and in a slight undertone tutoring. “In the second circle of hell will burn the lecherous man. The ones, who gave in to temptation, won’t be punished so hard as the ones who didn’t revel in the voluptuousness, that had been presented to them when they had been alive.”, he added, crowding Will against the counter, edge of the cold marble countertop pressing uncomfortably against the knobs of his spine. There it was again: seduction. Unconcealed and dripping like honey.

“What are you doing, Hannibal?”, Will asked, timbre low and husky. He felt trapped. Trapped by a predator, that could tear his fragile body to pieces in seconds. In mere seconds. Since Hannibal had lost his mind, Will was sure that he could see more behind the veil, that his psychiatrist kept around his true nature. Hannibal’s true nature was still a mystery to him. But there was this certain kind of darkness, the very one Will had seen countless times, reflected in the eyes of hostages, which had suffered from a traumatic experience.

“Isn’t that obvious?”, Hannibal asked, lips turned up in a smug grin. With his nearly totally exposed teeth, Hannibal’s expression had more from a snarl than from a grin. In these kinds of moments Will was not so sure about Hannibal’s true nature anymore.

“It is. But why?”

Will was trembling. A violent tremor had taken a hold of his body and he had never felt weaker in his life than in this moment. In this special moment when Hannibal had cornered him. Cornered him against the counter with not a slight chance to escape from the gaze Hannibal was surveying him with.  

“Let me ask you a question in exchange for an answer to yours?” Will stared at Hannibal transfixed, not able to do anything than nod automatically like a puppet on strings, strings that obviously Hannibal knew very well to pull, would.

“My answer will bring you a step nearer to your own requested answer. Did you ever read something from Hemingway?”, Hannibal asked, while he was still crowding Will against the counter. The edge of the marble counter was rubbing the processes of Will’s spine sore, which made him flinch away from Hannibal. But Hannibal did not take a step back, too fascinated from the reactions Will’s body had to his own. His mind obviously forbad his body to experience this kind of intimate feelings but could not control all body functions. Especially not the one’s as old as humanity itself. The parts of the brain, regulating longing for closeness to other human beings, more poetically: for intimacy and devotion, were so old and well – developed, that there was simply no cortical control, that could influence them.

“Maybe in College. I’m not sure.“, Will answered, while he looked past Hannibal to the door, where in the dark was something crawling in their direction. He blinked furiously, convinced that his mind had again playing tricks on him. When he opened his eyes again, outer corner of the eye feeling a little moist, there was nothing hiding in the dark shadows, casted by the furniture, that was lining the walls of the hallway. The light, falling through the windows, nearly as massive as the ones of the Catholic church, he had visited as child, was painting curved lines onto the old oak – floorboards. Why all of this, Hannibal?”, Will sighed, feeling defeated and submissive in Hannibal’s presence, glowing in the light of the dominant species, which the human had evolutionary become. Glowing in the light, Will would never glow in. He would never be like Hannibal was. There was too much emotional rubbish, making him weak and shivery like a coward, even if he was no coward. Empathy could make you pretty quickly to the depiction of a coward. At least for the most people.

 _“The world is a fine place and worth the fighting for and I hate very much to leave it.”, he said, taking a step back from Will and turning around._ Will stood frozen against the counter, all energy drained from his body and watched Hannibal walk slowly, hobbling a little bit with the right leg, to the door. Hannibal was dying. He even chose death. A constricting feeling pressed Will’s guts together, breakfast nearly going the way up, he had shoved it down moments ago.

“I will draw myself a bath.”, Hannibal said, before the passed through the kitchen door and left Will all – alone in the kitchen, made from stainless steel and marble. One of the herbs, sprouting in plain – metal flower pots, smelled like myrrh, that had been burned in the church, when his father had died. Liver destroyed by the toxic effects of alcohol abuse. Face yellowish and nails brittle with dark hematoma, signs for a malfunction of his liver, as well as his kidneys. Will had been twenty for a week when his father had died – alone and suffering in the leather arm – chair, his father had always taken with him even when they had to move a few hundred miles to his father’s next workplace. The leather arm chair sometimes dearer to his father than Will himself. The smell of myrrh had haunted him since this moment, since the moment he had been the only one to attend his father’s funeral. Since the moment, he had realized that he would end like his father. Maybe he would have ten years longer to suffer but nonetheless he would end someday – all alone, without any person dear to him attending his funeral. After meeting Hannibal, he had dared to hope again. The smell of goodbye, that was symbolized by the smoldering myrrh, forgotten. Forgotten until now. Forgotten until the moment, Hannibal had decided to give a cryptic prophesy about his chance of survival for his brain damage. Will was alive and Hannibal was, too. At least now. But he was not dying but Hannibal probably was, something Will could not believe simply.

_He is dying and I’m not. I’m already dead._

_I don’t want to be alone again._

_I want someone to attend my funeral._

 

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The water was running, a low and rumbling noise in the old pipes of the house, when Will stood unsure at the feet of the stairway, leading to the upper floor. He sighed and climbed the old stairway, steps creaking every time he shifted his weight. While breathing deeply to ground himself, he stopped in front of an oak – door, he presumed to lead to the bathroom. The low growling of the old pipes stopped with a high-pitched whistling, when the faucet was closed.

_He is dying and I would never know for sure._

_There is no other way._

Will had his hand closed around the pager, the agents had given him to call for help if something unforeseen should happen, and turned it around in his hand. The plastic was cold against his rough fingertips and slippery from the sweat, damping his palm. There were only two ways: To risk Hannibal’s health for nothing but his cryptic anecdote or the uncomfortable situation to talk to him about it, while he was laying naked in the water of his bathtub. He chose for the wiser and knocked, knuckles hurting when brushing against the row wood of the door. The injuries, he had suffered by Budge hands, were healing but only slowly. There was still scraping to his knuckles and a whizzing sound, whenever he had to take a deep breath, which he had to do oddly often since being in Hannibal’s focus.

“The door is not locked. You may come in.”, Hannibal said, while the splashing of water was audible, muffled through the heavy door. Will took a deep breath, deeply unsure whether his decision had been the right one. When he pushed the handle of the door down, nervousness made his palms damper than they had already been. A small bead of sweat rolled down his neck, which made him shiver slightly. He had to keep his posture. For once he had to be like Hannibal. Self – composure had to overbalance his insecurity.

“Tell me, Will. What was so important that it brought you here?” Will stopped on the threshold of the door, doorframe casting a dark shadow over him, room only illuminated by blood-red candles, dripping their wax onto the curved candlestick. The flickering light of the candles reflected in the polished silverware, making strange patterns of light dance over the ecru wallpaper.

“You’re embarrassed.“, Hannibal noted, lifting his arm and putting it onto the edge of the bathtub. “I can sense you discomfort over miles.”

Will rubbed over his burning neck, uncomfortable touched by the vulnerable state he saw Hannibal in. Although it did not seem to bother Hannibal that Will was here, he felt again like an intruder. An intruder into the most private part of Hannibal’s life, the exact moment when he was mostly vulnerable. No clothes to hide anything. No barriers to shield his empathy from Hannibal and no chance to keep his half – truths secret from Hannibal’s prying eyes. The barriers between Hannibal and him were blurring and he was afraid. Really afraid of what was coming.

“I wanted to ask you something.”, Will said, while his throat felt constricted and raw. He took a step in the direction of the bathtub, immediately surrounded by steam, rising from the hot water. The smell of etheric oils and expensive bath salts, that smelt like lavender mixed with a slight undertone of melaleuca oil, made his nasal mucosa tingle.

“Is that so?”, Hannibal replied, voice high at the end of his half question to signalize his interest. He had his head leaned against the edge of the tub, ash- blonde hair wet from the bathwater and lying flush against his scalp. To Will, he seemed relaxed. More relaxed and himself than he had seemed the last days after Budge attack.

“You recited Hemingway’s quote when we talked earlier in the kitchen. What did you mean by it?”, Will asked, hands clasped in front of his abdomen, when he made another step in the direction of bathtub. The marble floor felt cold against the soles of his bare feet and the water, splashing over the edge of the bathtub dampened the legs of his jeans.

“The question for which you should search an answer is the one asking after the why I did what I’ve done.” The water swapped again of the edge, when Hannibal let himself sink deeper in the steaming water.

“It isn’t pretty smart to ask people directly after their reasons for their actions. Most people don’t know why they do certain things. They simply do them without thinking twice about it.”, Will said, reciting lines he had heard countless times in the university lessons about basic psychology. Most people were close – minded when it came to defending their way of reasoning, which lead to a defense – reaction when they were asked directly about incidents in their life. It was no hard psychology. It was common knowledge of human behavior. Nobody liked it to be the one, who felt accused of something and had to defend himself, even if he had not been the one to do it.

Hannibal tilted his head back, exposing the long column of his throat, laryngeal prominence visible under the tanned skin.

“I’m every day more intrigued by you, Will. It’s certainly no surprise that Jack Crawford sees you as his finest Chinese porcelain.”, Hannibal replied, making a small blush appear on Will’s cheeks. “Please have a seat, Will.”

Will neared the bathtub carefully, to avoid stumbling onto the slippery floor. Mere feet in front of the tub he stopped, observing Hannibal silently. The even rhythm of his breathing. The small drops of water, rolling down his neck, where they stopped in the column over his prominent clavicle.

“It would be awfully rude if I wouldn’t offer you a seat on the edge of the bathtub. So please have a seat. I certainly don’t mind your presence, this is certainly no unwanted intrusion in my private space.”, Hannibal replied, sounding deeply amused. He had his eyes still closed, lashes fanning over his high cheeks bones. Will could sense the manipulation behind all of Hannibal’s slightly suggestive statements but he noticed that he did not care in this moment. That he did not care for much anymore. He had not thought about the killer of Dr. Mahone, not of Alana and even not of Abigail in the time, he spent near Hannibal.

“You wouldn’t have done this before your amnesia. You always kept your professional distance to me, at least partwise.”, Will stated silently, when he sat down on the edge of the tub, facing Hannibal, still lying relaxed in the opaque bathwater.

“What a shame. How many wasted opportunities.”, Hannibal mused, while turning his head in Will’s direction, where he sat rigidly onto the edge of the tub.

“Wasted opportunities, Hannibal?” Will frowned, mentally replaying all the conservations and meetings he had had with Hannibal. He certainly did not know which opportunity Hannibal saw as wasted. To ease his mind, Will let his fingers touch the smooth surface of the water, causing small waves to crass against the sides of the old enamel tub.

“May you rinse my hair? I’m not able to do it myself with the wrist sprain, I’ve developed in the hospital.”, Hannibal asked calmly, turning his arm, that was lying onto the edge of the tub, to show Will the dark bruising and angry swelling in the area around his wrist. The candle light was casting swirling patterns of shadows on Hannibal’s face, accentuating the fading bruising around his split lip. A slight shade of red colored Hannibal’s high cheekbones, a result of lying into the probably scaling bathwater. It was hot in the bathroom, humidity as high as it would have been in a rain forest. Will felt himself sweating but he was not sure if the reason was his nervousness or the nearly scalding temperature.

“Of course.”, Will answered, voice sounding slightly hoarse as if he had caught a cold, and took the small enamel – pot Hannibal was holding out to him. When a twig of the tree, standing on the neighbor’s property, hit the window, Will turned abruptly around. The storm, that had stopped in night had returned and was nearing Baltimore again. Rain, poured down onto the windowsill, letting thick droplets of dirty water splash against the window glass. The light of the lit candles, pouring red wax onto the white linen tablecloth, reflected in the droplets, which gave the situation Hannibal and himself were currently a certain kind of deep intimacy. Intimacy, he could not allow himself. He could not give up what they already had. Their friendship was worth far more than the satisfaction of the gnawing feeling in his heart, he had developed since staying with Hannibal. A version of Dr. Lecter, which was so different from his former totally indifferent and neutral way of presenting himself. The amnesia was, at least for Will, as much a blessing as a curse.

“Will?”, Hannibal asked worried, while touching Will’s hand, that was still dragging the enamel – pot through the hot bathwater. Only mere inches away from the outer side of Hannibal’s thigh and knee. The skin of Hannibal’s fingertips on his back of his hand were swollen up and soft, the lines sunken into his callus of the skin, that were forming his unique fingerprint, almost fully vanished.

“Sorry, I was distracted.” Will looked Hannibal in the eye, who had been surveying him with a worried gaze. The flickering light in the room reflected in Hannibal’s eyes, making dark maroon meanders swirl into the dominating shade of hazel in his irises. A small frown let a small wrinkle appear between his pale ash – blonde eyebrows but Hannibal said nothing more to Will’s distraction and leaned his head against the edge of the tub. Relaxed, he closed his eyes but did not stop touching the back of Will’s the hand. Small waves let the foam, that had been building on the surface of the milky bathwater, dissolve and let Will get even more uncomfortable with the situation. How should he ever do therapy with Hannibal again? After he had seen him this vulnerable? This human? Stripped from all pretenses, he seemed to play when he had to interact with society. Naked. Desirable. Even reachable.

„What was it that distracted you before? “, Hannibal asked, while Will let the first cup of water pour over his head, effectively shielding Hannibal’s closed eyes from the water with his hand. The hair felt soft under his fingertips and had a nearly golden glow in the warm light, that was coming from the candles.

“The storm.”, Will lied, hands pausing mere seconds in their work on Hannibal’s scalp. It would not have been wise to tell Hannibal the truth. It would have only complicated their situation more than it already was. He needed to restrain himself.

“Not very smooth, Will. Lying doesn’t suit you. “, Hannibal replied, amusement making his voice sound deep and promising. A smile was playing around the edges of his mouth, sharp canines flashing in the dimmed light of the bathroom. Will continued washing Hannibal’s hair, touching only his hair and not the tempting skin of his exposed neck, tracheal cartilages visible under the smooth skin.

“How did you know I lied?” Will smoothened the hair, crinkling over the shape of Hannibal’s mastoid. A faded scar, thin and long, was visible on the thin skin over the mastoid behind his ear. He stopped rinsing Hannibal’s hair because he had the strange need to touch the small scar, that had probably happened in Hannibal’s childhood.

“The human body has more than one sense. Even if I couldn’t see your expression, I could sense the discomfort you felt while lying, when you paused in rinsing my hair.” Hannibal sounded smug like the cat that had finally caught the canary. A small whoosh of air brushed them, making goosebumps appear on Hannibal’s neck. Fascinated, Will stared at Hannibal’s neck, where the soft and pale hairs were erected. The prominent first thoracic vertebrae were clearly visible because Hannibal had leant a little bit forward to simplify rinsing the short hair at the back of his neck for Will.

“Smugness doesn’t suit you, Doctor.”

A small smile played around Hannibal’s lips and Will felt the low growling of amusement, that let his larynx and whole neck vibrate.

“Nobody is without flaws. The human is designed to be the image of God but even deities have their flaws. Their Wrath. Their constant striving for revenge. And their greediness for power.”, Hannibal answered, voice still lowered to an intimate level. Will felt hot, the collar of his button down – shirt was clinging to his neck, making his throat feel more constricted than it already felt because of the upcoming atmosphere. The unresolved sexual tension. Stronger than ever. It had been between them since the very beginning of their strange and unbalanced relationship but never this strong.

„Do you want me to confess my flaws to God?”, Will asked confused, stopping in rinsing Hannibal’s hair, fingertips touching the helix of his ear. The water has lost its opaque color, making it possible to see the vague outline of Hannibal’s body. The long and trained legs, slim hips with visible hip bones and a flat stomach, leading to a broad chest.

“Flaws are not sins, dear Will.” Hannibal had opened his eyes and was surveying him with an undefinable gaze. The nearly burned down candles were highlighting the small sprinkles in Hannibal’s eyes, making him look lime some kind of primal predator.“ Do you want to confess any sins to me?”

Will was done with rinsing Hannibal’s hair and let the small enamel -pot sink into the lukewarm water, which smelled even more strongly after lavender than the air in the bathroom. To distract himself from the temptation, Hannibal was again casting in the waters of his mind like a lure, Will let his fingertips graze over the surface of the water. Small waves were lapping against the edge of the tub and Hannibal’s chest.

“I’ve none to confess that would interest you.”, Will said, voices hoarse and throat clicking, when he swallowed against the dryness, making his tongue stick to his palate.

“Not flawless but without sins, it seems. May I ask you a question?”, Hannibal asked, polite as always, while leaning forward in Will’s private space. Will nodded confused and resisted the temptation to lean a little forward, too. He could not risk this. Even breathing the same humid air as Hannibal, smelling the menthol – solution, he had rinsed his mouth with after brushing his teeth, was technically too much. Too much intimacy. Too much thoughts, that lead into the totally wrong direction.

“Would you give in to the sins, God forbid, if you could do it with me?”, Hannibal asked him, while putting his hand on the sharp curve of Will’s jaw. The tips of Hannibal’s fingers felt soft and warm against the humid skin of Will’s jaw. He was so near to giving in to Hannibal’s tempting offer. So very near.

Which sin did you have in mind?”, he replied, shivering when Hannibal brushed his fingertips against the edge of his jaw, where it was loose jointed to his maxilla. This time Will did not shy away, when Hannibal leant forward, noses nearly touching. The brown of his irises was almost completely swallowed by his dilatated pupils, reflecting the flickering light of the dying candles.

“That is up to you, Will. I’m not the one taking. I’m only offering.”

With gentle violence Hannibal pulled Will’s face directly in front of his own, extinguishing the last distance between them, which could have given this situation the appearance of being a close conservation between friends.

 “So, do you want a sin you can confess to a priest in a confessional?” Will was sure that this was the last time Hannibal would subtly ask for his permission to do the things, that would come. The things, that were inevitable. His breath was far too fast to be unaffected by this situation. By the unresolved sexual tension between them, burning since they had met each other in Jack’s plain office, smelling of cheap coffee and take – away meals.

He was too transfixed to even answer Hannibal’s question. Too fascinated from the slight sheen of sweat on Hannibal’s long and slender neck. From the way the column between his clavicles caved in, whenever he sucked air into his lungs, breathing accelerated and superficial.  

But Will saw the fading bruising on Hannibal’s neck, too. The way his lower lip trembled because of the hematoma, coloring the whole left side of his maxilla blue and centering around the cut, reaching deep into the tissue of his thin lips. In this moment, there was nothing he felt more, than guilt. He could not take advantage of Hannibal’s current physical state. He was not that kind of man. After all what had happened the last days, he couldn’t even be sure if Hannibal was not traumatized. Acting like he had been and was because he did not know how to do it otherwise. The Dr. Lecter he knew would not have behaved like his. The man, that he had known before the whole disaster with Budge had happened, had never shown any interest in Will. Not more interest than you would pay a close friend or a person of experimental value for Baltimore’s psychiatrists.

“You’re thinking too much.”, Hannibal noted, voice hoarse and deep, timbre vibrating in the spacious bathroom, when he leant forward, brushing his lips against Will’s. The resonance of Hannibal’s words vibrated against Will’s lips, tingling when he felt sharp teeth scrape over the soft tissue of his bottom lip. It felt like losing time again but this time it was not his growing madness where his dizziness was coming from. Every clock in the room could melt and distort the dial, it would be indifferent to Will.

Unsure, Will leant forward, brushing their lips, damp from the high humidity in the bathroom, together. Again. Hannibal’s hand was fanned out on his jaw, angling his head in the right angle to make the kiss more comfortable. More intimate and deep. Will felt like a little schoolboy again, not sure where to put his hands, he put them onto Hannibal’s naked chest, feeling the way his clavicle caved in, whenever he exhaled. It was so long ago, that he had kissed someone when feeling sane and safe. He had kissed Alana but it had not felt like this. It had felt like desperately clutching at straws. Desperately searching for comfort, he had never found in other humans before.

“Don’t think.” Hannibal’s words nothing more than a slightly broken whisper, Will closed his eyes and concentrated on the sensation of the feelings, that were flooding his body. The way Hannibal’s soft fingertips felt on the skin of his neck, stroking over the short curls there. On the softness of Hannibal’s lips on his own, the warmth that was radiating from him.

When Hannibal stroked over a sensitive spot under Will’s ear, he sighed, breathless and low, which allowed him to kiss Will deeper. Nervousness was radiating from Will, tinting his taste metallic and acidic.

Hannibal was careful, when he bit into Will’s full bottom lip, drawing only a small bead of blood to the surface. Will leant nearer to him, pressing himself fully against Hannibal. His button-down shirt soaked with water, making it translucent, pale skin and prominent clavicle visible. When Hannibal leaned back, to inhale deeply, lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, it was Will, who pulled him back to kiss him again. This time he was more sure of what he did. More practiced.

Will’s calloused fingertips touched his jaw, not smooth anymore because he had not had the time or energy to shave after the incident with Tobias Budge. With his tongue, Will touched the upper row of Hannibal’s incisors, the sensitive skin of upper gums and the tip of his own tongue. Breath labored and heart racing, Will pressed himself nearer against Hannibal, feeling the hard planes of his rib cage. His right hand lay over Hannibal’s heart, hammering in a steady rhythm, strangely unaffected by their kiss. Hannibal’s fingertips felt cold against the sensitive skin of his still bruised throat, when he opened the first buttons of Will’s button – down shirt, damp and nearly translucent. With the practice of someone, who had had to undress people countless times, Hannibal opened two further buttons, exposing the hollow between Will’s clavicles and the beginning of the groove in the middle of his sternum.

Will opened his eyes, only a small circle of indigo visible, when Hannibal stopped kissing him and started kissing his jaw, stubbly from not having shaved the last days. When Hannibal started sucking on the sensitive skin of his pulse point, he felt a shiver, making his whole body quiver. The shiver started at his neck and spread through his whole body, made his breathing become even more labored and made a low and pulsing feeling spread from his spine to his loins. His skin was tingling and he felt warm, a feeling he had not felt for a very long time. It had always been about satisfying his more primal needs but never about the intimacy. About the great feelings, being near to someone you cared for, could bring to the surface.

Hannibal had stopped sucking on his neck, a bruise forming where Will’s Carotid arteria had been perforated and kissed a line to his clavicle, while he put his hand, that was not stroking Will’s neck, under the hem of his button – down shirt. Will sighed, sounding guttural, when he felt Hannibal’s soft fingertips, still swollen from the water, on the warm skin of his stomach. Inhaling sharply, when Hannibal let his hand wander up, touching a nipple accidentally. Will opened his eyes wide. Dizziness was flooding his body. Arousal, forming in slow and maddening waves.

He leant his head against Hannibal’s shoulder, too overwhelmed by the amount of positive feelings that were flooding his blood system. His lips trembled against Hannibal’s clavicle, leaving a wet trail of saliva on his dry skin. The candles were flickering, wax nearly totally molten. It was a promising twilight in the room and it smelled like need and fresh sweat, that had built a thin layer in the cave over Will’s clavicle and on his back, making his shirt stick to him like a second skin.

“Far too many clothes for sinning.”, Hannibal mumbled hoarsely against Will’s clavicle, where he had left a second bite mark, while he opened the last buttons of the shirt. Carefully, he pressed Will away from him, pulling the shirt over his arms. A faded scar, not older than five to ten years, covered Will’s shoulder, where most muscles of his rotator cuff inserted. Probably it had been a knife, not longer than 3 inches because it had not perforated the parietal pleura, that was reaching until the bottom of the clavicle.

He leant forward to kiss the scar, tissue gnarled and bubbly under his sensitive lips, that forced Will to use the more ineffective of the two shooting positions, that Hannibal knew of that they were used in the active duty of the FBI. Will sighed again, sharply inhaling the air, bordering a low and quiet moan. When he put his hand on the front of Will’s jeans, material slightly damp from the humidity in the room, Will acted otherwise than suspected, he shied away. With wide eyes, wide as a deer that had been caught in a headlight, he was staring at Hannibal. Ungainly he crawled back and sat down on the wet marble floor, back and head leaning against the ecru – colored wall. Unsure on his feet, obviously aroused and not willing to leave Hannibal, Will got up, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Hannibal surmised, that he felt vulnerable.

“I can’t, Hannibal. Not when you’re in this condition.”

Completely silent, he took Hannibal’s bathrobe from one of the hooks, that were fixed at the wall besides the washbasin, carved to its semilunar form from a block of black marble. He helped Hannibal get up in the tub but avoided looking at his naked body, quickly helping him pulling on the bathrobe.  Wool, imported from Damascus extremely soft and smooth against his calloused fingertips.

What had happened today, could not happen again.

“I’m sorry that I took advantage of your situation.”, Will said silently, collecting his shirt from the marble floor, where it had laid in a puddle of bathing water.

“Your shirt is wet and I suppose that you don’t have anything to change with you, right?”, Hannibal asked, even if the poor condition, in which Will had to spend his time with him, was more than visible. “I will borrow you something. I dress myself and then I bring you your new clothes to the guestroom.”, he added, politely keeping distance to the distressed Will, whose lips were still reddened and who was still aroused.

“Thank you. I appreciate your kindness. If you need me, I’m in your guestroom.” Will added mechanically, staring embarrassed at his feet and turned mere seconds later around, hasted to the door and left, closing the door nearly soundless behind him.

When he had reached the guestroom, having left a trace with his naked feet on the old creaking floorboards of the stairway, he let himself sink to the floor and pulled his knees against him, embracing his bend legs with his arms. What had he done? He sat onto the cold floorboards and listened to howling of the upcoming storm, twigs lashing against the window glass. When Hannibal wanted to bring him the new clothes, day had turned to night and Will had fallen to a restless sleep in front of the door to the guestroom. Sighing, Hannibal went to bed, not sure what to do about Will’s condition. 

On the outside of the house a storm was raging, rain pouring down on the roof like God really wanted to punish their sins by sending a deluge to drown them. To drown them in the water, they had try to sin in. In lukewarm and milky bathwater, dirty because he had sat nearly the whole morning in it.

Will slept, trapped in nightmares, and Hannibal did not know what to do. There was no God there to help them. God had lost his benevolence a long time ago, nowadays there was nothing left of the gracious and loving God. Nothing but the striving for his ancient power, he had once had over mankind. He had once had when mankind had still believed in him.

Will slept and dreamed about what had happened, and Hannibal was awake thinking about what had happened. About what he had done wrong. Will would come to him. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not in the whole time, he had to stay with him because of the life – threat, the killer of the Doctor in the hospital was for both of them.

But Will would come to his bed someday, of that Hannibal was sure.


	5. Therapy

The darkness in front of the window had the color of pitch – black ink, when Will startled from his restless slumber, old floorboards cold against his stubbly jawline. No stars were visible on the clouded night-sky and light rain was pouring onto the roof of Hannibal’s house. The storm had decreased in its intensity to a slight breeze, making the twigs of the trees sway lightly from side to side. He stared out of the window, gaze hollow and throat raw. He did not know how long he had slept. What time it was. There was no clock in his room, no visible possibility to keep track of the elapsing time. 

Electricity made the air sizzle, powerful like a high voltage line. Will pulled his knees to his chest, back pressed against the cold wood of the door. Today had been too much of everything. Too much intimacy. Too many unexpected but not unwanted feelings. Too much transparence to see behind the veil, Hannibal kept around himself.  
He got up, striding through the room like a wild animal trapped in an iron – cage. His mind was an iron cage. His empathy, his special gift – he had cursed several times, had always made him a loner. Until the very day Hannibal had entered his life. 

I don’t find you that interesting.  
Oh, how much Will would give to say these words again. To say them and mean them while doing so. He was emotionally involved with Hannibal. His interest in Hannibal was not platonic anymore but he could not put a name on the thing that developed between them, either. It was certainly not love but neither meaningless desire. The lure had been cast and he had no chance to escape its gravity, pulling him in every time he was with Hannibal. 

Abruptly he stopped his restless pacing to stare out of the window, where the dark sky had colored greenish, promising an upcoming thunderstorm. A mighty vibration rumbled through the house, making the old pipes squeal. The roaring of the thunder was not wide away anymore and when Will left the guestroom, almost stumbling over the change of clothes Hannibal had left in front of the door, a lightning illuminated the dark hallway. He sunk to his knees, took the soft wool – pullover, Hannibal had put on the edge of the doorstep and pulled it over his head. The wool was soft against his naked skin, soft like a loving caress. 

Disorientated, he stumbled through the hallway, thunder echoing from the high walls like the growling of an wild animal. A beast that was coming. Coming for him and everybody dear to him. Losing his mind had never felt more real than now. He saw things that were not there, he heard things that had never been said and he had done things, that no sane person would have ever done. He had taken advantage of Hannibal, amnesiac and not in his right mind. He had given himself to the growing darkness inside him. In the end he was not better than the humans, he put behind high and heavily secured stone – walls. 

A lightning illuminated the sky, static electricity making little sparks, nearly looking like falling stars, explode in front of the dark canvas, the night sky was. The steps of the old stairway creaked, when he climbed upstairs. The hallway on the first floor was ill-lit by the small ray of light, that fell through the door to Hannibal’s bedroom, he had left slightly ajar. In the corner of the small transition room, leading to the master bedroom, stood an ancient armor. Rays of the golden light reflected on it, making its polished metal glimmer dangerously in the dusk. The long and curved blade, that had been placed in a sheath, richly ornamented, seemed sharpened and polished. In some things Hannibal Lecter was certainly a strange man. An oxymoron to the modern world. 

He pushed the door open that had been purposefully left slightly ajar, and stood unsure under the threshold of the door, leading to the transition room. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the bedpost of Hannibal’s bed, satin sheets slightly crumbled at the footboard of the bed. Carefully he took another step in the direction of Hannibal’s bed, eyeing the strangely modern bedside lamp in contrast to the other nearly ancient furniture. The light was illuminating the room in a warm glow. His next step was even more unsure than the ones before, feet shaking and legs stiff, he stumbled forward through the dark transition –room. Every time he took a careful step forward, the old floorboards squeaked, high and piercing.

“Hello, Will. If I’m honest I’d expected you much earlier.”, Hannibal said, timbre low and promising, while he was eyeing him over the edge of the book, he had been reading. The book itself was wrapped in dark and smooth leather, which was a great contrast to the fair skin of Hannibal’s long and delicate fingers. 

“You did expect me to come to you to do what?”, Will asked, obviously confused about Hannibal’s way to begin this conservation, Will had wanted to avoid having at all costs. Hannibal had returned to reading, dark eyes darting over the old and rustling pages. 

“To talk about the happenings in the bathroom, I suppose.”, Hannibal answered, while he continued reading his book. The warm light, coming from the bedside lamp, reflected in the brown of Hannibal’s eyes, dark meanders of auburn washing into the warm brown. “Please have a seat on the bedside.”, he added, while turning the page around to begin reading the next chapter. 

“You did not really expect me to come to talk, or?”, he asked, fiddling with his hands in front of his abdomen, before he sat down on the edge of Hannibal’s bed. The silk of the satin sheets was smooth against his calloused fingers, smoother than the last time he had sat here. But his feelings were not so different from the ones he had felt the last time he had sat in this exact place. Conflicted. 

The clock on the nightstand was ticking slowly in a monotonous rhythm, always repeating itself. Sixty seconds were a minute. Sixty minutes were an hour. But in Hannibal’s presence sixty seconds could feel like an hour as much as like a mere second. He had to have lost his mind to do this lunacy. This lunacy, that was against all effective moral rights.  
“Great deduction, Will.”, Hannibal said mockingly, while he had not lifted his gaze from the picture, he was eying the book in between the narrow lines and small letters. “I expected you to come here for the things you deny yourself.” The smile, playing around the edges of Hannibal’s mouth, was followed by an amused snort, when Will slid a few inches from him away. His coccyx touched the hard edge of the massive bed, hidden under the soft satin sheets, in a bruising way. Will had never felt more trapped. Never more fascinated by another person. Hannibal had lifted the veil, at least to a certain degree and there was something dangerous about the man he saw hidden behind wafting fog. Something dangerous that drew him in its gravity like a magnet would do with a piece of metal .

“What are you reading?”, Will asked to dissolve the tension, forming between them. The sky had opened up and pale moonlight was falling onto the trees, casting gruesome shadows on the even asphalt of the dark street. Somewhere in the distance, he heard the clopping of hooves, a droning noise. The stag was coming to visit him. Again, he had heard things that were not really there. Again, he had dissociated from reality. One further step in the direction the darkness, that was silently luring him to become one with it.  
“An excerpt from The Divine Comedy, dealing with the topics of sin and drive satisfaction.”, Hannibal answered, timbre droning and even as if their conservation had no other purpose than giving Will a lecture about classical Italian dramaturgy. 

On the other side of the window, hidden behind the trees on the other side of the street, was the massive stag stalking through someone’s dooryard. Hooves leaving deep circles in the short – mown grass. The pale moonlight reflected on its pitch – black and glossy antlers, making them look sharp and menacing.  
“Will? Are you okay? Hannibal eyed him worried, and had put the book onto the top of the nightstand, bookmark put between the pages. “You seem distracted.”  
Will looked at him with a look of detachment from reality in his eyes, dark- indigo almost fully swallowed by the dilatated pupils.  
“I’m becoming insane. And there is nothing I can do against it.” His voice began to become hysteric, eyes darting around between the dark nothingness in front of the window and the settling dust, falling to the ground in the warm light of the bedside lamp like small particles of gold. The stag paraded through the dooryard controlled and alert, hooves pawing over the asphalt when it reached the border between the mown grass and the street.

“Everything is alright.”, Hannibal tried to soothe him. “Tell me, what are you seeing.” On his inside confusion about Will’s strange behavior was welling up, settling as uneasy feeling at the bottom of his stomach. A feeling Hannibal had not felt for a very long time. Compassion was something totally akin to him. Amnesiac or not he certainly had never been someone for compassion. Superficial compassion for his patients, probably - but honest compassion for someone else? – Certainly not.  
The smell of sickness was heavy in the air. Sweet and over-ripe like rotting fruits. A smell, that made the mucosa in his nose tingle uncomfortably. It smelled as if Will’s brain cooked itself while it was still in his skull. Cerebrospinal liquid slowly boiling away the strange mannerisms and brilliant ability to empathize which made Will so special. So special for the world, that even if he had turned his back on all people, they were still coming to him to ask for help.  
Heat was radiating from Will in agonizing and increasing waves. 

Will seemed to be feverish, forehead scalding hot and sweaty, when Hannibal touched it carefully with his fingertips. The absence, Will was suffering, was totally detaching him from reality. Psychosis in its purest from.  
The attack of total delusion was certainly not normal, not even for a man like Will who was capable of things other people did not dare to dream of. Empathy as much a biblical plague as a salvation from indifference. Indifference for the hell, mankind was creating on this Earth. 

They behaved like apes, throwing pieces of fruit and stones through the air. The border between man and ape was thin, not more than a higher developed cortex – area and approximately two pounds of more brain tissue. Humans were strange beings. Certainly despicable. Most of them behaved as if they had never reached the step on the figurative ladder of evolution, Homo sapiens was residing on. Their brains should be cooking not Will’s.  
“A stag mostly. Sometimes melting clocks. And sometimes dead men, distorted by decay.” Will stared out of the window, gaze filled with fear and hands, folded in his lap, shaking violently. “I’m losing my mind and there is nothing I can do against it. Nothing.” He raised his voice, fear hidden behind calculated words.  
“Your job puts you under a lot of stress.”, Hannibal stated calmly and touched Will’s shaking hands, which were clawed in the thick cloth of his own jeans. With his fingertips, black from the ink the lines of The Divine Comedy had been written in, he drew soothing circles on the back of Will’s hands. The small vessels under his fair skin were pumping blood in a rapid speed. Sensitive skin between the thumb and forefinger cold and clammy. 

“You said exact the same thing before you came amnesiac.”, Will said, while pulling the edges of his mouth up and suppressing a humorless snort. “You would’ve become a psychiatrist in every goddamn life. Not even amnesia can keep you away from your affinity to the psychos. The murderers. The lunatics. And the people like me, highly damaged and destroyed.” He snorted, showing his disdain for himself and silently turned away from the window to look down in his lap, where Hannibal was caressing his hand in a soothing way.  
He knew that Hannibal observed him – a certain kind of fascination reflecting in the dark, fathomless depths of his pupils. The gaze, the other men was eyeing him with, spoke of curiosity and a deeper going fascination. A captivation, Will was not able to understand himself. There was nothing fascinating about him. Nothing more than the possibility of never ending fame and praises when someone would be able to explain how his empathy worked. How it worked except of the common knowledge that empathy correlated on a highly level with the lacking degeneration of neurons, belonging to the Amygdala. 

“Is it that what you see when you look in the mirror? The lunatic, the loner, the misfit?”, Hannibal asked, while he stopped drawing circles on the pale skin of Will’s hand. Carefully, he put the tip of his pointer under Will’s chin, touching the sensitive area at the base of his mouth, stubble rough against his smooth fingertips. “Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?” Will nodded mechanically, gaze still absent and clouded by the dissociative episode, he had suffered mere minutes ago.  
“I see a man, who is desirable, smart, quick – witted and caring. I see a friend, caring for the ones near to him. The man may think that he is broken but he is not broken beyond repair. There is always the chance of mending.” Hannibal lowered his voice, while he put his other hand, which was not holding Will’s chin up, on the back of his head. The dark – brown curls were sweaty against his fingertips. The skin under the thick and unruly strands of hair smelled metallic and felt clammy, sweat cooling down Will’s head. Physically everything was alright with Will but Hannibal was not so sure about his metal stability. But he was also curious. Curious how far he could overdo things. Will’s eyes were opened wide, innocence and trust visible in the dilatated pupils. Hannibal saw himself in the black nothingness, fascination reflected in his own eyes. 

“Do you still see the stag?”, he asked, while he ran his fingers through Will’s unruly curls. Unconsciously, Will pressed the back of his head against Hannibal’s fingers, asking for more human comfort.  
“Yes.” His voice was raw and husky, syllables long and stretched. The stag was still parading over the street, approaching Hannibal’s door, of that Will was sure, but he had no eyes for it anymore. All of his attention was focused on Hannibal, face so near to Will that he was able to see the small burst arteries under his eye, where the bruising had started fading to a sick greenish color.  
“Is it still there?”, Hannibal asked, syllables rolling smoothly over his tongue. His deep baritone was coating Will’s rationality in a thick coat of dripping honey. It caressed the places deep inside in Will, he had believed to be extinguished. The blood, pumping through his veins, let the thick vein on his neck pulsate in the hammering beat of his heart.  
“It stands in front of window, observing us.” With his voice sounding like broken plea, he tried to gather a rational thought to avert the things, that were going to come but was not able to lean away from Hannibal. Away from the dripping temptation, that Hannibal was offering him. 

Will could smell the faint scent of menthol when Hannibal leant further into his personal space and soft lips nearly brushed over his stubbly cheek. His eyes were darkened, pupils almost swallowing the whole irises in both eyes. The dark brown had an auburn shade to it, reflecting the warm glow of the light reddish. The soft skin of his lips brushed against the stubble on Will’s cheek, creating a rasping sound which let a pool of scalding lava gather in the small hollow over his coccyx.  
“What is it with this strange creature, you’re seeing? What is your mind trying to tell you? A warning? A promise for the upcoming happenings?”, Hannibal asked, voice low and droning against the sharp angle of Will’s jawline. The hand on the back of his head still ran through his curls, sweaty and disheveled. He was curios how the things between them would evolve further. Curious if he had to courage to do the things, he had wanted to do for eons. 

“What happenings?”, Will asked, mocking Hannibal for his sureness in every aspect of life. Hannibal’s lips grazed the edge of his mouth, lips tasting slightly after menthol solution and the bitter Camillo – tea, Hannibal had made himself after his first try to approach Will in a manner that would go far over the borders what was appropriate for a close friendship and what was not. 

“Curiosity always killed the cat, my dear Will.”, Hannibal responded mocking and increased the pressure of the hand, laing on the back of Will’s head, Drawing Will to himself, Hannibal pressed his lips more firmly against the edge of his mouth, which was opened slightly. Will’s breath moist and hot.  
“Hannibal, please.”, Will pleaded, feeling his self-restraint slip away from him with every ticking of the clock on the nightstand. “Just kiss me already and make me please just forget all this lunacy.”, he added, gasping for air, when desire pooled low in his stomach like burning lava. He had never felt drawn to men before but it was totally different with Hannibal. He was the enigma, the unsolvable riddle, Will’s mind could not pull away. The puzzle, Will wanted so desperately to solve. So desperately to pull away. To divide into its core pieces.  
It was certainly not unwanted but unforeseen when Hannibal kissed him, lips pliant against Will’s chapped ones. It was not brutal, nor dominating – the kiss had a certain dynamic to itself. A dynamic, that drew Will instantly in. It was addicting. He had long not felt this high, not since the first time he had done weed in university. A further try to fit into the society, ruling on the campus. A further disappointment. 

“Unwanted or unexpected?”, Hannibal asked, voice low and vibrating against the sensitive skin of Will’s swollen lips. He recognized embarrassed that he had not kissed Hannibal back. Frozen, he had sat there, thinking about the bunch of endorphins and androgens that had been flooding his blood system. “Certainly not unwanted.”, he responded and pressed his lips hard against Hannibal’s, still swollen by the cut in the lower lip that was causing the ugly bruising on Hannibal’s chiseled jawline. 

The sharp edges of Hannibal’s teeth scratched over the sensitive flesh of his bottom lip and he gasped, surprised. Longing for more, for more closeness and more naked skin contact was pooling low at the bottom of his stomach, making his loins and spine tingle with anticipation for the coming. Hannibal guided him in the kiss, turning his head up by laying his hand, fingers wide spread, on the line of his jaw. They kissed deeper, the taste of menthol solution now stronger and mixed with Hannibal’s own taste.  
Earthy, strong and in a certain aftertaste sweet, the lure, tasting like dripping honey, had worked, Will was intrigued. Fascinated. Not able to pull away from Hannibal’s hungry lips on his own.  
The tip of Hannibal’s tongue touched the front of his teeth and the small ligament, connecting his bottom lip to his mandibula and was thorough to get to know every inch of Will’s oral cavity. Will had the feeling that Hannibal was memorizing every dip and dent like he wanted to draw a masterpiece of his mouth on a linen – canvas. 

He gasped, not able to form any coherent thought, when Hannibal started pressing his lips slightly against the sharp angle, where his mandibula and upper skull met. The hand, resting on the small of his back, drew him even nearer to Hannibal – practically in his lap. It was strange to be in this position, to be the one to sit in someone’s lap. Whenever he had had a slight fling with a woman, he had been the one to have someone else sitting in his lap. But with the flings he had had, a number he could count on one hand, he had never felt like this. It had always been about desire satisfaction. About his drives.  
“I like the taste of your sweat when it is covering your flesh like now.” Hannibal whispered in his ear, desire clearly audible in the praising words. “Let me taste more of it.” Will tilted his head back to give Hannibal’s swollen lips more access so his unguarded throat. He had never felt so vulnerable. Never so turned on by a simple kiss. The desire was making the straight line of his spine tingle, when Hannibal pushed the hem of his pullover up and touched the naked skin of his back. Fingertips scalding - hot against the clammy skin of Will’s back. 

“It takes not much more force to break someone’s spine than to snap a thicker twig. Just a little pressure on the right spot, between two vertebrae and the right angle.”, Hannibal whispered against Will’s neck, breath hot and moist against his collarbone. His hands lay spread on Wills back, feeling the way, his ribcage shifted whenever he inhaled falteringly.  
“It that your version of classy dirty talk?”, Will asked him breathless, labored breath fanning over Hannibal’s disordered hair. Hannibal stopped kissing his neck to meet his eyes, amusement clearly visible in the dark fathomless black of his swollen pupils.  
“It seems to work pretty well when I look at you”, Hannibal responded smugly while he pressed his hand against the cool metal of Will’s belt buckle, making him gasp audibly. “Let’s see if I can make it work even more.” 

Hannibal’s fingernails scratched blunt lines over Will’s back, red and angry, when he pulled his pullover up. Will lifted his arms to make it easier for Hannibal to pull his pullover off but paused when he noticed how well his scars were disposed in the warm light of the bedside lamp. All self-consciousness, he had felt, had faded. “What is it, Will?” Hannibal was breathless but his voice was tainted by something more than just unspoken desire, deep under the obvious lay more. More unresolved feelings. This was not just drive satisfaction even if Will would have found it more easy if it had been nothing more than attraction. Attraction for the body but not the mind. Just simple pleasure. Nothing more and nothing less. But it had never been easy with Hannibal, why should it be now?  
“Please shut the light off.”, he said, desire still audible in his voice but nonetheless a little unsure of the coming things. He had denied himself this fantasy for so long that he had not been prepared for it to become reality. In his mind were various cogs rattling. His mind nothing more than a machine with a malfunction.  
Moments later, it became dark in the room, bedside lamp turned off. How did he even deserve someone like Hannibal? Someone who took notice of the things he wished for. Someone who noticed the subtle swifts in his moods whenever a case touched him more than it should. 

“Trust me.”, Hannibal said in a warm and low tone against the curved line of his collarbone, clearly visible under the pale skin. He had become far too skinny lately. Working for the FBI had made him a worse eater, even more worse than it had been the case after his father had died. Or when his mother had left his father, riven by grief, and never ending despise. “Lay down on your back.”  
Hannibal pressed him carefully back and helped him lay comfortable on his naked back with an ease as if he had not fought for his life merely 80 hours ago. His chin was carefully lifted up, Hannibal’s fingertips warm and soft against the sensitive skin of his neck. “Don’t deny yourself something you obviously want. Something your body needs.” He was careful and slow, when he crawled over Will. A shadow, looming over him. Eyes dark and fathomless. Admiration and fascination clearly visible in the dark pools of blackness. Will could feel the soft tissue of Hannibal’s pajama – bottoms press against the outsides of his thighs, only two layers between naked skin. Glorious naked skin. 

“Just do what you what you want to do. Don’t think.” Hannibal’s voice was like dripping sin. He had been lured here and now there was no turning back anymore. Never again. Unsure if it was appropriate to do so, Will lifted his hands to put them on Hannibal’s hips but did not dare to press him down against his own hips. He felt Hannibal’s hands on his own, where they lay gently on his hips, to help him decide what he wanted to do. It had never felt like this. It had never been difficult like this in his last encounters. He had never cared for the people, he had slept with. If he thought about the kiss with Alana, the things he had wanted to do with her, there was nothing. No desire. No lust, pooling low at the bottom of his stomach.  
With Hannibal there was more: exploding firelights behind his closed eyelids, whenever Hannibal touched his naked skin, burning lines, wherever kisses were pressed on his sensitive skin and goosebumps, covering his whole body, whenever Hannibal fixated him with his dark eyes. Dark eyes, that had haunted Will in his dreams. Dreams, he had never dared to think about. Let alone to talk about. 

„Undress me. “, Hannibal demanded politely, when he felt Will’s shaking hands fiddle on the buttons of his pajama – shirt. With violently shaking hands, he opened the first two buttons, exposing the small cave between Hannibal’s prominent collarbones. This felt completely different from everything he had experienced before. He had been with men before. Curiosity in the university but it had never felt like this. Manipulation had never worked better on him and even if he knew that he was manipulated, he could not escape the trap Hannibal had lured him in. Unresolved feelings in combination with a Hannibal, who took everything he wanted even if it was by outright manipulation, were a deadly combination. A combination, that should have never happened.

The next button came undone, exposing the beginning of Hannibal’s sternum with the small line in the middle. He opened two further buttons and pushed his hands under the soft tissue of Hannibal’s pajama – shirt, feeling the hard, even plane of his chest. Under the rough skin of his fingertips, the skin, littered by fair hair felt soft and he could feel every inhale and the rapid pounding of Hannibal’s heart. Without wanting purposefully to do so, Will scratched his short fingernails over Hannibal’s right nipple, which made him inhale sharply.

“Will.”, he intoned breathlessly, moist breath hot against Will’s neck. It made him feel powerful to reduce Hannibal to a writhing mess with nothing more than an accidentally touch. More self – consciousness than before, he opened the last buttons and exposed Hannibal’s flat stomach, a small line of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his pajama bottoms. His lips were trembling when he leant forward against Hannibal, sitting on his hips, to kiss the center of his chest, where his heart was pounding loudly against his ribcage. 

Will meet Hannibal’s eyes a short moment, not more than mere seconds, when he helped him pull of the pajama shirt. Hannibal’s eyes were darker, darker than Will had ever seen them. He was not sure if it was because of the twilight in the room, only illuminated by the street lights on the other side of the street or if there was something more about Hannibal’s dark and merciless gaze. In this moment, he was nothing more than a predator. A predator, who had finally caught its prey. Who had finally its prey at its mercy.  
He could not stop the moan, escaping his constricting throat, when Hannibal leant forward, pressing their naked chests together. Now there was no layer between them anymore expect for his jeans and Hannibal’s thin pajama bottoms, that sat low on his hips. The string, that had made his pajama bottoms sit over his sharp hipbones, had loosened when he had rolled over Will, knee dangerously close to his crotch.  
“Please just touch me.”, Will said, voice needy and hips pressing up to meet the soft material of Hannibal’s pajama buttons. He had never been so aroused but nonetheless to embarrassed about himself. How needy he sounded. How submissive. Practically begging for Hannibal’s gentle touches. 

Hannibal pressed his swollen lips against Will’s neck, against the sensitive spot were his larynx was most prominent and he could feel every shaky exhale. He left a mark, when he bit down and sucked on the thin skin over the prominent vein on the side of Will’s neck.  
The sweat over Will’s collarbone tasted metallic and sweet like the fever, that was burning his sanity away. He spread his legs to let Hannibal glide between them, when a rough fingertip scratched over his erected nipple. “Tell me what you want me to do.” Hannibal grinned smugly and let his hands glide over Will’s flat stomach, teasingly pushing his fingertips under the waistband of his jeans. 

“I […],”Will stammered, inhaling sharply when Hannibal pressed the heel of his hand against the bulge in front of his jeans. “[…] want you to touch me.”  
“Here?”, Hannibal asked smugly, while he closed his lips around Will’s right nipple, sucking lightly on it. Will gasped and pressed his hips violently up against Hannibal, who leant teasingly away to refuse Will the friction, he was so desperately begging for. 

“Fuck, everywhere. I don’t care. Just touch me. “, Will was not able to form a coherent sentence anymore, there was nothing except for desire pooling low in his stomach and the heat, radiating from Hannibal, that enveloped him. Hannibal’s lips turned up, grin feral and dangerous, before he pressed his lips, still grinning, against Will’s sternum and pressed his thumbs under the waistband, caressing the prominent hip bones teasingly. Embarrassed about the louds sounds, he was making, Will pressed his lips against Hannibal’s neck. Sweat, tasting salty. Hannibal did not give him a warning, when he pushed his fingers further under the waistband of Will’s jeans, touching the base of his erection through the thin material of his boxer briefs. “Just stop being a fucking tease, Hannibal.“ , Will growled against his necks, lips closing about his ear lobe and teeth scraping over the sensitive skin, where his ear met the angle of his jaw. 

He felt Hannibal’s hands open his belt with expertise as if he had done this countless times. Maybe he had. As Hannibal pulled the belt out of the loops of Will’s jeans, he could have sworn that Hannibal had intended to tie him down but had been polite enough to do not do it without Will’s permission. He found the thought very erotic. To be totally under Hannibal’s mercy.  
“Your wish shall be my command.”, Hannibal said darkly, pushing the button of Will’s trousers open. His fingertips scratched accidentally over the bulge in Will’s plain grey boxer briefs, making him gasp loudly and press violently against the heel of Hannibal’s hand. The sound of the zipper being opened was strangely loud in the silent bedroom. Silent except for their labored breathing. Silent except for Will’s thundering heart. 

He stilled, when Hannibal pushed the jeans from his hips, carefully lifting his hips up to pull it fully down over his bottom. “Hannibal?”, he put his right hand, the dominant hand more sensitive for vibration, on the soft skin of Hannibal’s neck, feeling the rapid pumping of his blood through the thin skin. Hannibal lifted his gaze, lips mere inches from the wet spot on Will’s grey boxer briefs. Will took his left hand away from Hannibal’s back to ran his fingers through Hannibal’s sweaty, ash-blonde hair, peppered by small grey strands. “This is not just about me.”  
Will pulled Hannibal back with him, spread his legs wider to make the position more comfortable and pressed his lips against the tendons tensioned in Hannibal’s craned neck. The last flings had always been women. He was not even sure if he could interpret Hannibal’s body language right. The kisses, he pressed on Hannibal’s neck, were wet and he could feel the low vibrating of breathless groaning, when he sucked on his Adam’s apple. 

His nails left angry, red scratches on Hannibal’s back, when he let his hand room over the wide shoulders, the slender waist, and the small cave, sinking in over Hannibal’s coccyx. The pajama bottoms were so loose that Will could put his hands under the waistband without any problem. Hannibal gasped breathless against his neck but stayed otherwise still when Will let his hands room over his rear through the thin material of his black boxer briefs. 

“Kiss me, again.”, Will mumbled ordering against Hannibal’s neck, demanding tone in his voice making Hannibal shiver and press unconsciously against him. This time there was no patience anymore. Hannibal kissed him like a drowning man. Like a man lost. Like a thirsty man finally finding water. His lips were swollen, small cut bleeding constantly, making the kiss taste acidic and feral. 

Carefully he pushed his hands under the waistband of Hannibal’s boxer briefs, waiting for the rejection that was undoubtedly to come. But Hannibal pressed more firmly against him, giving him the permission he had searched for. It felt glorious to feel Hannibal’s naked skin press against his own, the sharp edges of his hipbones pressing against his groin.  
“You’ve never done this.”, Hannibal gasped out, when Will’s finger stilled on his hipbone, unsure if he even knew how he had to touch Hannibal to give him pleasure. To make him beg for release. To see him slip out of his normally rigid and strict self. Tentatively he brushed his fingertips over the small line of skin between Hannibal’s erection and his hipbone, trimmed pubic – hair wiry against his calloused skin. “How can you be so sure of that?”, Will asked, taking a mischievous pleasure in seeing Hannibal squirm away over him, when he brushed his fingers accidentally against the head of his cock. 

“I take my assumption back. You’ve done this before.”, Hannibal murmured, voice lowered and larynx vibrating violently, when Will let the nail of his thumb scratch over the slit on the head of his cock.  
“What students do in college, stays in college.”, Will said, maniac grin pulling the edges of his mouth up, canines sharp and shiny – white in the ill lit bedroom. He could still taste the metallic tang of Hannibal’s blood in his mouth and he wanted more. He wanted to have Hannibal beg for his mercy. To make him beg for his release.  
“Did they do that in college, too?”, Hannibal asked him, while he took Will’s hand away from his erection, where he had been teasing him fleeting touches. Will could see the small flicker of pain in Hannibal’s eyes, when he had to overexert his sprained wrist to push Will’s hands over his head. The belt, he had worn, closed around his wrists, pinning his hands effectively to the nearest bedpost. 

“Kinky, I must say that wasn’t what I expected you to do.”, Will said, testing the ties that bound him to the bedpost. He could not loosen them up himself and was totally under Hannibal’s mercy. Totally powerless.  
Hannibal started kissing his neck, continued sucking on the scar tissue on his shoulder, and lined his body with kisses. His hair was askew. Gray strands falling into his high forehead, perfectly gelled hair hanging loosely around his head, short hair on the back of his neck curling. Will had never seen Hannibal more real than now. More vulnerable. The injuries, he had suffered by Budge hands were still there. The overexerted joint of his wrist was mending, the strong blue coloring of the various hematoms was dissolving and even the superficial cut around his neck had lost its angry red color but Hannibal was nonetheless hurt. In need of comfort. Maybe he needed this – this closeness - even more, than Will needed it himself. 

Will startled gasping out of his thoughts, when Hannibal let his sharp incisors scrape over his nipple. With brutal violence, he pressed against the belt, that tied his hands to the bedpost but succeeded not in freeing himself.  
“Did you expect me to do this?”, Hannibal asked him hoarsely, teasingly kissing the thin line of hair, disappearing under the waistband of his briefs. He had never thought that he could find it so erotic to be dominated. And then he could not think coherently anymore. Not when Hannibal pulled down his boxer briefs, soft fingertips brushing against his groin fleetingly. But especially not, after Hannibal closed his soft lips around the head of his cock, tonguing the slit fleetingly. 

Will threw his head back on the pillows, white lights flickering in front of his eyes. God, someone blowing him had never felt this intense. This hot. This erotic. Hannibal touched the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs with soft fingertips, before he closed his right hand in a loose fist around the base of his cock. Oh God, he would be never able again to do therapy with Hannibal. To see this mouth close around the rim of a wine glass. To see Hannibal lick his dry lips.

The cave of Hannibal’s mouth was so hot and wet against the tip of Will’s cock and the hand around the base was mercilessly stroking him into oblivion. “Hannibal, stop. This isn’t just about me. Fuck.”  
Hannibal stopped bobbing his head up and down and looked up to Will, meeting his glossy eyes. “Language, Will.”, he chided him, voice muffled against the head of Will’s cock. Vibration against the sensitive head, making Will’s whole body quiver. Feet, cramping uncomfortably against the soft satin – sheets. His lips were smeared with salvia and clear precum, his bottom lip even swollen and bloody. Hannibal looked at him how Will imagined a predator would at its prey when it were totally under its spell. 

“You denied yourself pleasure again.”, Hannibal murmured, while he robbed back over Will, face only mere inches away from Will’s neck. Hannibal’s steady breathing, far too steady for his current state of arousal, was fanning hotly against Will’s sweaty neck. 

“You were in pain. I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering to give me what I want.”, Will responded, honest worry for Hannibal’s physical condition clearly audible in his voice. “Would you please open my chains?” Hannibal obeyed his wish without further questioning and loosened the belt buckle, metallic clicking shockingly loud in the stillness of the dark night in Baltimore.

He touched Hannibal’s face, the spot where his neck met his jaw and whispered uncoherent things against his neck. The possibility to touch Hannibal, to make him come completely undone, aroused him even more as Hannibal’s lips around his cock had. It felt grounding to feel Hannibal’s weight press him down, to have the feeling as if he was hidden from the world. Hidden from the people who came to bother him with their problems. Problems he did not care for. He could not care for anymore. There was too much on his own plate.  
“Don’t vanish in the depths of your mind.” Hannibal’s voice a low whisper against the shell of his ear, moist breath brushing cooling over his sweaty curls. “Just let your body guide you.”

Hannibal pressed his hips down, bringing their skin in glorious and rough contact. His lips brushed apologizing against the bruise he had left on Will’s neck where he had bitten him earlier. “Close your eyes and imagine a cliffside. Just concentrate on the feeling of my body against yours. On the way, how my skin feels against yours. On my lips against your neck, on the way my sweat smells and the low tingling in your loins, you must feel this moment. Just feel and don’t think.“ 

Will spread his legs further, hips aching from the angle he had to hold his legs. Hannibal felt glorious against him, the way his naked skin, sweaty and hot, glided against Will’s own. The way his lips drew meaningless patterns on his sensitive neck.  
“Can you see yourself on the cliffside?” Hannibal’s question sounded breathless as if all air had left his lungs gushing when Will had started pressing his thigh up, up against his erection. Will could only nod, body tingling from pleasure and so very near to the edge of the cliff. Every motion of Hannibal against his sweaty body sent him nearer to the edge. Water pushing against the foot of the cliff, sharp stones jutting out of the raging sea. 

“Prepare to fall over the edge.” Will stilled, breathing a rapid staccato and heart hammering hard against his ribcage. “Just let yourself fall.” When Hannibal pushed his right hand between their bodies, Will closed his eyes, using his empathy to imagine himself standing on a high cliff, bathed by the raging ocean. Roaring of the waves so loud, that he was not able to hear a single thought anymore. His doubt and morality had been extinguished. Quieted to nothing more than low howling, barely audible over the droning of the roaring waves.  
When Hannibal pressed the nail of his thumb against the vein on the back of his cock, there was nothing he could do than to fall down the cliff. Then there was a blissful moment of blinding nothingness. White lights dancing in front of his closed eyelids. The muscles in his stomach clamped violently and he pressed senseless against Hannibal’s body pressed against his when he reached his climax. He had not felt a climax this strong for a very long time. 

Boneless, he let his tensioned body sink down on the soft satin sheets, comfortably cold against his hot and sweaty back. “No, I don’t want you to return the favor, Will. I wanted to give you pleasure and don’t expect anything in return for it.”, Hannibal said, voice low and admiring, when Will had pushed his hand between them, accidentally brushing against his erection. The skin of Hannibal’s erection was smooth like velvet against Will’s rough fingertips and he longed to touch him but nonetheless obeyed his wish to stop touching him.  
“Just sleep.” Tiredness was making Will feel drowsy. 

The level of endorphins in Will’s blood-system was still high and he felt boneless, deadly tired but happy. All his thoughts had quieted. The buzzing, which had been constantly there in his mind in the last weeks, had stopped. There was nothing but stillness and the comforting knowledge that there was someone who cared for him. Who cared for his well-being. His safety. And who accepted him for himself, not the role he had to play to fit into society. 

Before he fell to dreamless sleep, he felt Hannibal’s hands carding through his hair. Soft lips, whispering dark promises of coming pleasures and admiring praises against the shell of his ear. The soft thrumming of Hannibal’s heart accompanied him even in the black nothingness of sleep. 

Will had always liked sleeping. It had been the only time of the day where he had to feel nothing, where he had no consciousness about the things other people did. But then his dreams had begun. Nightmares, horrible like the movies late at night on the TV. The movies he had watched far too often in the last weeks to avert falling asleep. To avert awaking in cold sweat, totally disorientated in with not a single clue how he had gotten from his modest home to a street, somewhere in the nothingness of nature.

But tonight, he had the luxury of dreamless sleep. Tonight he would not somnambulate.  
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was early morning, when the startled from his dreamless slumber. On the outside had the sky began to color in the greyish color of approaching morning. The first rays of sunlight were filtering through the closed curtains, painting golden patterns on Hannibal’s naked flank. He lay on his side, turned away from Will, facing the window. Their legs were still intertwined, the soft hair of Hannibal’s calves tickling Will’s instep. 

The shrilling of the phone was terrible loud in the silence of the bedroom. Light – headed Will rolled away from Hannibal to reach for the private telephone, standing on a small side table beside Hannibal’s bed. Tiredly, he pressed the button to the answer the call, while he surveyed the sleeping doctor with a heart – clenching feeling of goodbye in his chest. Last night had been a mistake. He had acted against all his rules.

Against every doubt in his mind, he had slept with Hannibal. Not properly but nonetheless he had become emotionally involved with Hannibal. His therapist. His only friend. The man who had seen him at his best and even at his worst. All of his heart longed to repeat this night but his mind told him that it had been already enough. That he had already caused enough trouble.

“Will? It’s me, Jack. We have good news for you and Dr. Lecter.”  
When Will had thought it could not have come more worse, he had been so wrong. He robbed to the edge of the bed, not able to bear the view of Hannibal’s nearly golden, naked skin anymore. The dark – blond hair was falling askew around his head and he had his lips slightly open, warm breath making the soft satin sheets move slightly.  
“It’s 4.am in the morning.”, Will responded sardonic, not really in the mood to talk to Jack Crawford at this moment. He had had enough problems before he had answered the phone. He had enough problems. Enough stuff to process without Jack pestering him at this early time. Much too early to think clearly or act nicely.  
“Sorry for disturbing you this early. But I think this information will be from interest. Even for you. But especially for Dr. Lecter.”

 

Will got up from the bed, hard floorboards cold against his naked feet. He mumbled a lame approval for Jack to go on pestering him but was drifted away with his thoughts somewhere completely else. Hannibal had turned in his sleep and the satin sheets had slipped away, exposing the long and straight line of his back and legs. His shoulder blades were mottled with dark bruises, the small cut mere inches away from his hairline was still of an angry, red color. Hannibal, in his right mind, would have never had last night happen. Never. Not even in the dreams Will had had about him. There had always been rejection. Rejection as protection for him, to protect him from beginning something he would not if he would not feel so detached from reality.  
The bitter, acid taste of vomit burned at the bottom of his throat when the realization about what he had done mere hours ago hit him hard. 

“Will?”, Jacks voice sounded worried and he waited patiently for Will to regain consciousness of the reality again. A reality that burned like fire at the pit of Will’s stomach. Shame made his intestines violently clench. He could still taste the Camillo – tea and menthol-solution in his mouth. He could still feel Hannibal’s experienced hands draw burning lines of pleasure on his skin.  
“Yes.”, he replied, gagging when he tried to stop himself from vomiting in the front of Hannibal’s bed. Slowly he paced to the window where he leant against the window board, inhaling sharply to get rid of the vomit burning low in his empty stomach. 

“You don’t sound good, Will. Are your sure that you’re alright? Did something happen to Dr. Lecter or you?”  
Oh, when Jack would know what had happened he would probably strangle Will to death. He had been sent to protect Hannibal while he was on duty and had taken advantage of his vulnerable and confused state. If Hannibal would ever press charges against him, he would most likely lose the few things, he had.  
“It is. I’m just tired.”, Will said, knowing that after this night nothing would ever be alright again. He had destroyed the only friendship he had had since years. The only connection to a person, going deeper than professional interest or drive satisfaction. 

“Maybe you should visit a physician in the next time. If Dr. Lecter recovers quickly, he may even recommend you a colleague of his.”  
The vomit was working its way up in his throat again and he could not stand to be in the same room as Hannibal when he talked about him. When he had to talk about him as if last night had never happened. As if he did not know how Hannibal’s breathless moans sounded. How his lips looked when they were swollen from kissing and shining with spilled saliva. He left without turning back to look at Hannibal because he knew if he had turned back, he would have never been able to leave. He would have never left. There would have been more sins. More taking advantage of Hannibal’s amnesia. 

“You were right about the doctor in the hospital. He wasn’t one of the Ripper’s victims.” Jack paused, line sizzling shortly with an error. As if Will had not known this before. He had but nobody had listened to him. Jack had been so focused on the Ripper that he had been so blind to the truth. The truth Will had already known when he had entered the room, flooded with the doctor’s blood. 

“We could detect a former patient of his, who lost his wife to cancer. After his wife had got the diagnosis by Dr. Mahone, he had pestered the doctor with pleas for help. He had been practically stalking the doctor, begging him to heal the rare form of leukemia his wife was suffering from. But there had been no chance of healing, her bone marrow was full of further metastases. When she died, five months after Mahone had diagnosed her, the man had to go to various therapists to resolve his growing anger on the powerlessness of the modern medicine but no doctor succeeded in making him see the dangerous potential of his striving for wrath. He killed himself, a clean shot to the head before we could arrest him. It is over, Will. Finally. At least the story of this killer is.“

Will dressed in his own clothes, smelling of old sweat and dried blood but it was equal to him. He couldn’t stand the thought of wearing Hannibal’s clothes.  
“We will escort Dr. Lecter back to a private hospital and you’re free to go home.”, Jack added, while Will gripped a small scrap of paper from the working desk in Hannibal’s room to welcome his guests. His hand shook violently, when he started to write in messy letters.  
I have no regrets about last night. But I hope that we can go back to what we were before all of this lunacy had happened. I’m so sorry for all this mess. I hope you forget everything that has happened tonight.

Will left Hannibal’s house, silent and ashamed. It felt like a goodbye. A goodbye forever. How could he have been so stupid to risk the only good thing he had had in his life? The police officers passed by him and told him to take a seat in the back of the police car. He did as he had been told. Not strong enough to protest against anything anymore.  
The car pulled out of Hannibal’s driveway and Will did not look back. He was sure that this would have been the last time, he would have seen Hannibal. Tired, he leant his head against the cold window glass of the car, falling into a restless slumber. 

He dreamed of the stag, mocking him for his naivety. And he dreamt about the Chesapeake Ripper, whispering sweet promises to the shell of his ear like Hannibal had done, mere hours ago. The dark, leathery skin of the creature engulfed him fully and there was no chance to escape. No chance to breath anymore. He sank deeper in the swirling darkness. To the ground of an endless abyss of madness. On the ground was nothing but evil and darkness. Nothing but stillness. His mind had, again, become a trap. But this time there was no safe haven anymore. There was just hostility. And dark, fathomless eyes, glimmering in the full blown darkness around him in the deep abyss. 

He had finally lost his mind. 

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

3 weeks later  
The air was crispy cold, and the first leaves were falling to the ground, littering the sidewalk with a thin blanket of golden leaves. The sky was heavily clouded, dark clouds distorted the pale rays of light, falling to the floor. In the wind lay the first breath of coming winter, cold and filled with the pure smell of snow. 

Humans were strange creatures. When the winter, people liked to personify to a real person, stood on the porch of their houses, they huddled together under the warm light of coffeeshops and shopping malls like fledglings would under the warm light of an incubator. People were more trusting in the winter. A paradox to the fact that in winter happened more first-degree murders than in every other season. But humans had been always blind to the obvious.

His wounds were healing: Broken bones mending, cuts and scrapes forming a scab and bruises fading with the ongoing restoration of his perforated blood vessels. He had to visit a neurologist twice a week even if he was perfectly sure that there was no permanent damage to his brain. That there had never been damage to his brain. Neither he had had a retrograde amnesia, nor he had ever forgot about the days he had spent at his home and in the hospital, pretending to be amnesiac. 

A few drops of rain hit the thick wool of his coat and he craned his neck to look up in the sky, clouds heavy with rain and the shale promise of snow. As more droplets hit his shoulders and face, he pulled his scarf tighter around his neck to keep the gusting wind away from the thin scar around his neck, still sensitive to cold. His umbrella was a dark contrast against the pale grey of the skin. It had been so easy to fake his neurological symptoms, so easy to seem vulnerable. Literally to easy. Even Will had been fooled by his pretense, which had always been the variable Hannibal had never been able to predict. His plan could have ended any other way but he had, as always, been right with his assumptions. The spider web, he had lured Will in grew constantly. 

Even the death of the doctor had gone well with his original plan. Even if the death had not been part of the original plan, more an interference, it had gone well with the outcome, he wanted to achieve with his little charade. It was simply fascinating what one could achieve with a little vulnerability, right placed outbursts of feelings and a little bit of seductive behavior. It had taken nothing more than a little manipulation and he could play his games further. Will had already started changing, brain slowly boiling itself to madness. Memory consolidation highly disturbed by his inflamed hippocampus, a rare version of encephalitis where the own immune system produced anti bodies against various receptors, including the NMDA – receptor. 

After all Budge’s attack had been nothing but beneficial for him. At least the whole inconvenience with Franklyn and Tobias had served a higher purpose: to make Will Graham see his potential, to make him accept his darkness. Curiosity had driven Hannibal to do what he had done: To fake memory loss to reach the next step of his plan to gain Will’s trust.  
Small droplets of water lay on the glass of his watch, making it difficult to differ between the twelve numbers.

It had to be around 6pm with the sky already darkening to the dull greyness of nightfall. Only one hour to Will’s usual time for his appointment. One hour, Hannibal could muse in his thoughts about how well his plan had worked. How well it still worked. Will had canceled his last appointments, always too early in the week to do it not purposefully. But he had not canceled his appointment for this Friday evening and he would not dare to do it shorthanded. Will Graham was many things but purposefully rude he was certainly not. 

The rain was slowing him down but he would nonetheless arrive totally in time to his office. He should not have left the taxi on the corner five houses away from his office to enjoy the pure silence of the nightfall.  
He walked faster, anticipation for the coming burning at the pit of his stomach. Anticipation how Will was dealing with the consequences of his actions.  
Curiosity had always killed the cat. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Hello, Will.”, Hannibal greeted him politely, while offering him to hang his coat on the rack beside the front door. Confusion showed on Will’s face, frown clearly visible on his forehead. “You’re pretty early for your appointment.”  
Will smiled apologetic, smile not really reaching his eyes. The redness on his cheekbones came not only from the biting wind on the outside, Hannibal noticed. Will Graham was embarrassed. Even deeply so. 

“The weather in Wolftrap was stormy and it was raining heavily. So, I guess, I’ve overestimated the amount of time it’ll take to get here.”, Will said apologizing while he averted to make eye contact with Hannibal. 

“You seem rather itchy today. Has something happened in the last four weeks?”, Hannibal asked worried, offering Will to sit down in one of the dark leather – armchairs. He had to suppress the amusement, making the edges of his mouth curl upward without his permission when he saw the confusion about his polite but distant behavior occur in Will’s facial expression. If he was really quiet, he was sure, he would be able to hear Will’s blood racing through his veins rapidly. Will was nervous. Obviously confused and Hannibal know just too well how to use his worsening mental – condition for his own purposes. 

“No. Nothing. Just another case.”, Will said, hands fidgeting with a loose threat of his flannel – shirt and his eyes downcast to the floor.  
Will had never been a good liar. And Hannibal had always been too good at it. Too good at playing games with other people. Too good at pulling apart their minds.  
“Shall we talk about it?”, Hannibal asked, crossing his legs, and leant back against the backrest of the arm chair in a more relaxed posture.  
“I guess that’s why I’m here.” 

Talking with Hannibal about a new case had certainly not been the original purpose for Will to come here. Gaslighting another person had never worked better than in the case of Will Graham. It was far too easy to manipulate him. Far too easy to make him doubt his own perception of reality.  
Hannibal folded his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for Will to choose the right words to brief him about the new case he was helping the FBI with. The clock ticked, a monotonous sound in the quiet of the office. Any other person would have lost patience but not Hannibal. He had more than enough time. More than enough time to make Will lose his trust in his own perception of reality even more than he already had. 

He waited. Time passed by. But the clock he let Will drew at the end of their appointment was even more distorted than the ones before. He stored the picture behind the other neatly arranged ones in the leather case where he kept all private details about Will Graham. It wouldn’t take long anymore to reach Will’s breaking point. Not more than mere weeks. 

And as always Hannibal would be there to catch him before he could fell in the dark abyss of madness.  
But until then it meant waiting. Wills metamorphosis might have taken long but the result was certainly worth the wait for Hannibal. So, he waited patiently. Lurking in the dark. The silent voice that made Will lose his mind.  
Beautiful things had to be destroyed to be rebuild. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made it. I'm done with the story and I'm also done with my two big exams for this semester. Now it is only one last test to reach the second step on the ladder of becoming a doctor. Fucking hell, yes. Between preparing for the biggest test this year, I've found enough time to end my first big project in English. I'm thankful for all the comments, suscriptions and kudos. You guys are awesome. I hope that all of you will like my last chapter and plan on writing a new story in English when I'll have finished my other project I'm currently writing on. As always is feedback appreciated and feel free to inform me about mistakes in grammar or spelling. I have to admit that it was very difficult sometimes to find the right worlds. German is so fucking literal and concise in comparison to English. Have a nice day.


End file.
